Predator
by FearandLoathingXIX
Summary: For an endless summer, Gary Smith has been suffering. Original cover art by Tackles
1. Prologue

It's been a while since I double-posted from my tumblr to but I figured this one would sit well on as well. This is a story that has become more than just a story to me. It spawned original work, helped me understand Gary as a character, and put him inside my head where I think he'll remain a long time.

It started because I had a thought about a particular line of this song . I wanted to challenge myself to write something really from inside Gary's head, and once I got in I couldn't really get out. I hope that I'm going to be able to do it justice

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**_Predator ~ Prologue_**

_I held your name inside my mouth, for all the days of wandering._

_- Shearwater 'Animal Life'_

* * *

_For an endless summer, Gary Smith had been suffering. _

This was his purgatory, his punishment for daring to lose. The reason he lived like a test subject instead of a human. Shunted from therapy to therapy, from one doctor to another.

He'd lost, which was unforgivable, but he'd lost to _Jimmy Hopkins, _and that was the worst crime of all. Headstrong, violent, infuriating Jimmy, who punched first and asked questions later. Who Gary deserved to beat, who Gary should've run rings around until his neanderthal eyes saw double. He _deserved _to beat Jimmy, he'd never known anything so surely in his life.

But he hadn't. He'd failed.

From the floor of Crabblesnitch's office, where he'd lain among his plans like so much broken glass, he had gone straight to Happy Volts. He only stayed until his parents came to get him, but it still meant eighteen long hours behind bars. Of being kept in a cell like a rabid dog, waiting to be shot full of death.

It was humiliating, frustrating, and worst of all, _frightening_. He was sixteen years old and abandoned in a mental hospital, of course he was frightened. He knew better than anyone how dangerous this place was. Where the hopeless got abandoned and drugged until they weren't anything more than shells; just empty carcases kept on by artificial means.

"Look what you've done to yourself," he accused, pressing his back against a filthy wall. "Fucked it right up, didn't you?" He threaded wet hair through his fingers and ran the events over and over in his mind, trying to pinpoint what went wrong, the one thing that he'd neglected. But no matter how hard he tried to unravel the problem, it came back up in knots. _How had Jimmy beaten him?_

He refused to sleep. Even for the night they kept him under observation, he stayed where he was, awake and afraid. Until his parents came to get him with faces disproving and expectant. Like they had given up pretending to be surprised. They'd surely known it was only a matter of time – that eventually he'd throw himself in it.

And their answer was always the same, great, green stacks of it. They didn't like to talk any more, just opened wallets and chequebooks so other people would try to solve the problem of _The Broken Son _for them. Really, that was his fault. He'd exhausted their patience over and over. They were some of his first and most successful experiments. The _original_ experiments.

So he knew what was coming next: new therapy, new medication, and long weekends away. Visits to places adamantly claiming they were _not_ hospitals, even though they bore all the signs – timed meals, pills in those little cups and group therapy, where his only fun was trying to prompt a breakdown from the other patients and even that got him locked into another psych session.

He was bored of doctors and nurses. So hopelessly, mind-numbingly _bored_ of their practised manners and polite suggestions. Petey was better company, which was saying something. Even _Jimmy_ would be better company, because Gary could wrap his hands around Jimmy's throat and crush the enraging life out of him. That'd be good for a few minutes at least.

He knew the shrinks would go wild for a piece like that, but it was exactly why they never got them. He just sat tight and played along, giving enough to get by but no more. He knew the ropes too well to be caught out now.

Except it wasn't always easy, not when they were pumping meds through him like a chemical processing plant. Even at the beginning he'd never taken well to medication, but now it was worse. Instead of giving up and calling quits, they carried on chasing the rainbow. Looking for a perfect swatch of colours to turn him into a pot of gold. The person they all wanted_._

He could handle drugs with time, once he'd gauged them and knew what to expect, but they'd throw him for a loop with one ironically named 'slight adjustment' and he'd spend hours staring at the wall, knowing that he was missing something, something _important_, but unable to grasp it because he was playing side-effect bingo and winning every time.

Sometimes the pills actually worked, and he'd start ticking all the boxes, showing signs of 'stability' and 'good behaviour' until he caught himself. He'd realise he was reading a _book_, or paying attention to the news, and like a bout of food poisoning his mind would purge itself. Only that ended up with another cycle of therapy, another change in medication, and one more spin on the wheel of fortune, playing over and over until it stopped on a lucky number.

What no one realised was that nothing would ever stick, because he didn't _want_ to be fixed. When he sat in group therapy with all the suckers, stuttering and spewing nonsense about their problems, no one realised that he wasn't like them. He wasn't claiming there was _nothing _wrong with him, just nothing worth treatment, nothing that needed a cure. His only problem was being there. That and Jimmy Hopkins.

Because Jimmy was a huge problem. _The_ problem. The problem he hadn't figured out a solution for yet. Because Jimmy had beaten him, which would not, could not, not _ever_ stand.

He couldn't do anything about it yet, not while he was still in purgatory. Trapped under the thumb of the system that tried to smash a triangular peg through a square hole over and over, until he felt sick and paranoid all the time. Until he'd forgotten what being off medication even felt like.

But summer couldn't last forever, and Bullworth was the only place that'd have him – it was the only place that'd have _anyone_. It was just a case of how many zeroes after the one it'd take to make the problem go away. Writing out cheques to cover for their son's wild behaviour was his parents' speciality after all, and he didn't expect them to let him down.

Because it was a pathetic, regimented abattoir for the soul, but Bullworth was _his_ – or it would be. He wasn't going to leave things as they were. He couldn't.

He was going to pick the threads up where he'd started to unravel them. He was going to tear down Jimmy Hopkins, because his pride wouldn't allow him to stand.


	2. Apologies are for the Weak

This is part 1 of _Predator_, where after the taster of the prologue things actually start to happen.

I've agonised over this so long I've basically lost sight of what's good or not, so I hope that some people can get the joy I've gotten from it minus all the anguish and writer-feels. My tumblr at .com contains the tumblr copies of this fic, and a whole bunch more compiled in a handy-dandy masterlist for any other enthusiasts.

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**Part I**

"I hope you understand, Smith, that you are back here on a _strict_ warning," Dr. Crabblesnitch lectured in a vain attempt to instil some kind of penance in Gary for the multitude of crimes that were being forgiven in this sitting.

"Oh, I understand," he answered drolly, trying to calculate what combination of words would get him out of here and into his new room. Crabblesnitch talked a hard game, but if dissolving the school like a body in acid hadn't got him kicked out, nothing short of sacrificial murder would do the job.

He took a moment to imagine ripping Jimmy's still-beating heart out over a sharp rock; satisfying, but murder was too crude, too inelegant. He'd find something better than that.

"Smith? _Smith?_" said Crabblesnitch tersely. "Are you even listening?"

"Of course," he answered, not really caring if he was believed. Crabblesnitch was only a small fry, the figurehead on top of a system that was ruled by cliques and now, potentially, Jimmy.

He was the _real_ challenge, and Gary didn't know what he was going to do about it yet. He couldn't make plans until he'd worked out where the chinks in Jimmy's armour lay – but there was going to be an opening. There had to be.

"I can see I'm boring you," Crabblesnitch condescended, "but you're going to keep your head down this year, boy. Or someone is going to push it down for you."

"That won't be necessary," Gary assured the relic of an educational era long passed. "I have every intention of behaving, _sir."_ He enjoyed lying. It felt like preserving the truth, keeping it personal and secret so that only he knew the real score.

"Well that's good to hear," Crabblesnitch answered, "because you can start with Hopkins."

"What?" He found himself forgetting to disguise his surprise. The council of doctors and administrators had arranged for him to move in before term started, getting 'settled in' as they claimed, which mainly consisted of making sure he had all the meds he needed. He didn't mind, he was just as eager to get away from home as his parents were to get rid of him. Out of sight was out of mind, and his being there only complicated the problems they had in abundance anyway. It just meant he hadn't been expecting Jimmy yet.

"He's been here over a week. _Oh?_ Is that news to you?" remarked Crabblesnitch obnoxiously. "In fact, he's been around most of the summer." That made sense, if Hopkins' infamous mother didn't want her big mistake ruining the latest extortion racket.

"Wonderful," he answered through gritted teeth. "I can't wait to get started." He couldn't wait to get out of the office, in fact.

"The time for toadying is over," Crabblesnitch reprimanded. A roll of his eyes was what Gary had to settle for instead of ripping the silver tray out from underneath Crabblesnitch's tea and flinging it across the room. Just to remind him that he couldn't get away with being a patronising cunt _all_ the time without someone blowing a fuse.

And he liked blowing a fuse, in a sickly satisfying way. Even when the repercussions were deep, he liked the exorcism of really losing his shit. That might have been why he let things go too far up on the roof; because he'd rather ride the runaway train all the way down than get off a stop early.

"Apologies, sir, would you rather I was ruder?" he offered, and Crabblesnitch looked like he was thinking about grabbing the tea-tray and hitting _him_ with it for a moment.

"Cut the sass, Smith," he ordered distastefully, and Gary would've laughed at how ineffectual he sounded. "Anyway, I'm sure you're eager to get unpacking," he continued. "Dismissed."

_At last,_ Gary thought, getting up and skulking out of the office. He headed for the boys' dorm, hoping not to see Jimmy on the way. He didn't care to deal with him just yet. Not until he was prepared.

One thing that his parents had managed to do was arrange a single room this year. They were quite good at getting him what he asked for, as if rewards would 'fix' him. It didn't, of course, but he couldn't let them know that.

He shut the door and familiarised himself with the walls that would be his fortress for the next year. Nothing spacious, nothing special, but it was a space and it was _his _space. He lay back on his bed and rested an arm over his eyes, relaxing into his surroundings. There were matters to attend to.

"_So?_" he asked himself, imagining a shadow that stretched all the way across the room. "What are you going to do?"

"I'm still thinking," he answered silently. He animated the shadow, allowing it to get up and move as if it were its own creature. It perched on the corner of his desk, echoing a _him _that would be more proactive, more to grips with the situation.

"_Are_ you?" the reflection asked scathingly. It was a habit he had to be careful with, interacting with these phantoms of himself. If he tried to explain it to people they were sure to take it the wrong way. He wasn't actually delusional, he didn't see or hear anything – just imagined that he did.

"If you've nothing useful to offer, don't say anything at all," he scolded himself.

"Well," the phantom responded, moving from the desk and pacing the room, walking straight through the bed and Gary's legs where they really lay. "You could start with Hopkins."

"No," he denied. Jimmy was too much to bite off at once. All good anglers knew you needed to catch bait before you went after the deep-sea swimmer. "Not Jimmy."

"Hmm, well then," his voice posed with a purr, minds still working as one. "Who's the wettest small fry at Bullworth?" A grin passed over his lips.

"Petey," he murmured satisfactorily. "Perfect." It would be simple, he'd go through Pete to get Jimmy. Pete who could be manipulated like day-old chewing gum; stiff at first, but a few chews and he'd go back to the way he was.

But Jimmy was here already and Pete wasn't, so it was a given that he had to navigate the thick-skulled cretin first. The school was a ghost town, and in a ghost town it wouldn't be long before he ran into a monster. Those nightmares were answered sooner than he expected. It hadn't been more than a few hours before his calm was disrupted.

"I don't believe it," a grating remark rang from Gary's bedroom door, which he certainly remembered being shut a few minutes ago.

"Oh please, do come in," he announced, failing to hide the sourness in his tone. "I always shut the door because I want irritating halfwits to come and bother me."

"Still your charming self, I see," Jimmy remarked, leaning against the doorframe like he had some business to be there.

"You mean, you can't tell the difference?" he asked, sitting up and looking Jimmy up and down. Nothing important had changed about him except that he'd grown – upwards but not out, like someone had put him on a rack and stretched him. "I'm a new man, Hopkins. Fresh out of the shop."

"The crazy farm was good to you, then?" Jimmy jeered, and Gary imagined standing up, crossing the room and then smashing Jimmy's face through the cheap wooden door.

"It was super, thanks," was all he said, much to the disappointment of his violent streak. He had to be careful around Jimmy, it was almost too easy to insult him. Words leapt onto his tongue without prompt or hesitation, and he could go too far in the blink of an eye. Like when he'd screamed the entirety of his wrongdoings at Jimmy, just to rub it in, and forgot who could overhear.

"According to Crabblesnitch, you're all fixed up and ready to make good," Jimmy declared. "I don't buy it for a second." Gary couldn't help a smile at the corner of his mouth. He'd done an exquisite job of betraying Jimmy's trust in the end.

"So you finally learned not to trust me," he remarked slyly. "Took you long enough."

"Whatever you've got planned, Gary, forget it," Jimmy ordered. "I'm gonna be watching you like a dog." And that was exactly how he felt: a bad dog that had bitten once before. So even though he wagged his tail and played fetch, everyone was just waiting for him to snap again.

The sad thing was that if he _had_ been genuine, if for some reason he'd really wanted to put the past behind him, Jimmy had taken all of ten seconds before confirming he'd never let it happen.

"Takes one to know one," he said in a low voice that Jimmy wasn't necessarily meant to hear. He heard it anyway.

"Wanna say that to my face?" Jimmy snapped, bristling with the aggression that defined him so well.

"Not really," he demurred. "The question is, what do _you_ want? An apology? Or would you like me to tell you I'll do it again the moment your back is turned?" He kept his eyes working, examining Jimmy from head to toe, but still avoiding his face. He didn't think he could look Jimmy in the eye without wanting to put a black ring around it.

For a moment Jimmy didn't say anything, which was good because it meant he wasn't sure. Confusion was Gary's territory, how he functioned. Never being predictable was the way he stayed one step ahead. He savoured the silence on his tongue like a slow-melt pill, releasing a drug far better than anything he got from hospitals or doctors.

"Cat got your tongue?" he taunted when Jimmy did nothing but stand there looking fazed and stupid. He did it a lot, but this time Gary had been the one to put the vacant expression up there.

"Can it," Jimmy retorted, clearly running low on answers. "Just get used to seeing me when you turn around, Gary, because from now on that's how things are gonna be."

Gary had no intention of playing by Jimmy's rules. Actually, he'd rather take a mouthful of broken glass and swallow than accept anything Jimmy dealt out to him. So in his mind he got up and stood eye-to-eye with Jimmy, saying _no _right before he smashed his nose flat against his face. His hands twitched into fists as the fantasy played out, but moved no further.

"We'll see, Jimmy," he murmured wanly, his energy exhausted just containing the fury; the demons that wanted to tear open his chest and strip Jimmy down like vultures picking a corpse.

He could hold it in because he wasn't yet out of the shadow of his medicated summer. Mystery chemicals still crept around his system and suppressed the impulse to lash out. It grated on him. As if some great shred of metal was being dragged slowly over his back, wearing away more and more of what he was, until the only thing left was a pile of meaningless shavings.

"Don't you have somewhere to be?" he suggested, this time imagining slamming the door on Jimmy's fingers until they bled. His mangled hand would be a reminder of what happened when you stuck your arm in the tiger's cage.

"Nope," Jimmy replied brattishly. It was like he was being deliberately difficult; as if to test how well Gary's control over himself was working.

"You know, as much as it'd be a delight to have you stand there all day watching me like an animal in a zoo, I have some privacy to be tending to," he excused dryly.

"Zoo, eh?" Jimmy picked at with a raffish grin. "If I throw food will you do a trick?"

"I said get out!" a scream tore from him with sudden, disorientating violence, and before he could suture the haemorrhage he was up on his feet, pacing towards Jimmy like he didn't know what he was going to do.

He stopped just out of arms' reach, and as the silence stretched like elastic, the only reason he did nothing was because so many thoughts bombarded him. _Why_ Jimmy – why had Jimmy won, why had he failed? What had gone wrong, whose fault was it, and why did looking at him bring such loathing to the back of his throat, like bile before vomit? As a rule, Gary didn't _like_ anyone, but Jimmy got under his skin like maggots and he wasn't entirely sure why.

Perhaps it was because Jimmy's very presence at Bullworth was proof of his failure. Or perhaps because he was the perfect example of a complete idiot, yet somehow he was a success. He defied everything Gary had learned about the world, and he hated it.

"Okay." Jimmy acceded condescendingly, stepping back from the doorway. "Don't blow a gasket."

"I'm fine," he hissed defensively, "just get out of my face." He slammed the door before any more could be said, Jimmy's hand regretfully nowhere near it. However, he felt a set of sceptical eyes hanging above him. Looking down with the aloof judgement that he usually reserved for everyone else.

"You lost it," the critical voice stated, riddling him with pique. It wasn't meant to go like that – their first meeting.

"I know," he answered under a breath. He was careful never to be loud if he answered himself in these conversations. Being overheard would just create problems, and the last thing he needed was any more interference in his life.

If he wanted to stop he could stop, but he didn't want to. Even if he only mocked himself – a self-depreciating cycle that would surely present a gold mine to any therapist – it still helped him confront things he didn't want to face.

"It's Jimmy's fault," he excused. He _knew_ that Jimmy made his blood boil. With just one smug, arrogant look he could set everything aflame until he'd put him back in his place again.

"And screaming at him makes you look super in-control," he baited back. He knew yelling wasn't the way to do it, but he was having issues controlling his furnace of a temper.

Gary glanced at his bedside table, where bottles of pills sat like tiny orderlies waiting to fiddle with the dials in his head. He hadn't taken anything since coming back to Bullworth. At home or hospital he was monitored, so he never had a chance to skip, or someone would push them down his throat.

He didn't want to be on medication and never had. But while he refused to be on it, everyone else refused to let him choose for himself. That meant he had to be smart this time. He couldn't do it foolishly, going cold-turkey and letting the change hit him like a truck on ice.

He took a bottle and turned it, to hear the little clicks of his medicine tumbling against the plastic casing. Beads of glass; swallow it piece by piece, until he had enough in him to make a mirror. So everyone could peer at him without fear, knowing they would only see themselves.

The meds were already wearing off, he could feel it, but he couldn't lose temperance so quickly. If he did it carefully, he might get away with it. Yet he felt a part of himself hanging across the room in contempt of him and all he was considering.

"Chicken," it prompted. He tried to ignore it. "Brack-brack-braah," it taunted again.

"I'm being careful," he told himself.

"You don't like losing your head." On medication it _was_ easier to keep his cool. His fuse wasn't so short, temper less likely to shatter and turn to dust like dropped chalk.

"That's not the point," he insisted.

"You just like the taste, is that it?" It ripped into him without mercy, a tone full of sarcasm and condescension. "What are you afraid of? _Hopkins?_ What's he going to do to you, beat you up until you're as ugly as he is?" It would be easy, in truth, to throw out all the meds and run off the rails, blow his top and try to take Jimmy with him.

"No," he said quietly. "It has to be this way."

"Why, because you're a coward?" it asked in disgust. Chemical crutches for a cripple, that's what they believed.

"Because I'll lose," he snapped. "Just like last time." There was no denying or avoiding it; he'd lost control and let Jimmy beat him. This time he had to win. Even if that meant taking the crutch – even if it burned to hold onto. "I have to win," he repeated, a mantra that gave him comfort as he clutched the bottle of meds in his hand like they could sink into his palm and reach his blood that way. "I _have_ to."

And that was what he told himself in the morning, as he uncapped the lid and put powered conformity into his hand, slipped it onto his tongue and swallowed it dry. He wasn't giving up, he was just playing along.

But before long, he felt the change. The numbing, calming drone as the chemicals corrected his 'under-stimulated' mind. He'd told the doctors to take a spin in his brain and see how under-stimulated _they _felt afterwards, but it made no impact on them; they still gave him prescriptions. But the pills did make a difference. Soon enough he felt ready to venture outside of his room, raiding the vending machine for Buzz and taking a seat on the sofa. Classes weren't starting for two more days, so he had endless time to kill.

He dug the remote out from between cushions and the television growled into action. He flicked through channels idly, and as if drawn by the noises and pictures like an animal, Jimmy wandered in not long after. Gary was slumped longways across the sofa, so it was only the shifting channels that indicated he was there at all. He waited in expectation of Jimmy making the first move, but he didn't do anything, just stood there as the TV carried on springing through programs.

"The secretary of defence released a statement earlier today- _zzzht_ - if you purchase this set of five ladders right now for 19.99 we'll give you another five ladders for free, yes, _free!_ _Zzzht_ - but these wounds indicate he was killed with a heavy object - _zhhht_ - have you been injured in an accident that wasn't your fault?" Jimmy made a soft snorting noise and Gary pretended he wasn't there for as long as he possibly could.

"Is this all the crap there is?" he questioned crudely, and Gary blotted out the sound, as if no one had spoken. After a conspicuous pause, Jimmy tried again. "So this is your big plan, you're just gonna ignore me?"

"I don't have a plan, Hopkins," he answered calmly. "And not to make suggestions, but I think you sound a little paranoid."

"You'd know all about that," Jimmy responded with a tone like a hacksaw blade. Metal teeth ripping into Gary's flesh, cutting for bone. He wouldn't give Jimmy the satisfaction of bleeding.

"Would I? I'm all cured now," he claimed uninterestedly, still jabbing the remote as if it could mute Jimmy instead.

"As if," he snorted. "You can't fool me."

"Of course I can," Gary hissed, loosing the words of a slightly less-controlled self. "Or did you forget what happened last year?"

"I remember beating you," Jimmy countered vindictively. Of course his memory was that short-term. Gary imagined being able to snap Jimmy's neck and let him drop to the floor like a bag of trash. Better yet, he could lobotomise him and give Jimmy a taste of what it felt like to have someone mess with your brain like a build-your-own radio set. Let _him_ be the one who played the side-effect lottery and forgot how to eat or sleep properly.

"Face it, Gary, you've got nothing. You _had_ nothing." He was being provocative with all the subtlety of a sledgehammer, as per his usual fashion.

"What is it you're waiting for me to say?" Gary snapped, leaving the TV on a cycle of adverts and sitting up, looking in Jimmy's direction without looking _at_ him.

"That I beat you," he declared, "and that you know I'm the King."

"King? _King?_ You've got to be kidding," he scorned, letting a laugh slip from him like a pocket of hysteria left over in his brain. "No one here thinks you're their boss."

"Ask'em," Jimmy challenged. But Gary pulled his temper down until it was only a simmer, keeping his tongue because he couldn't retaliate just yet. Obedience tore something from his body. A protest so strong it couldn't bear to be inside his skin any more, crawling up the sofa to lunge for Jimmy with fingers of blades. That self which told Gary he couldn't _do_ this, that he couldn't let Jimmy believe he was superior for even a second.

"What're you smiling about?" Jimmy queried suspiciously, as Gary visualised blood running from his mouth, spewing bubbles from his shredded throat as he tried to speak.

"Like I'd tell you," he scoffed.

"All right, fine," Jimmy snarled. "I'm bored of your pissy attitude anyway."

"_You're_ bored?" he spat the words out like an infected tooth. "I'm none too surprised. I get bored of you after thirty seconds, Jimmy, I can't imagine what sixteen years of your own company must feel like."

"Do you really wanna make trouble with me?" he confronted, walking around the sofa to square off with him. "Because if you do, I'm right fucking here."

"I don't want any trouble," he answered patiently, pulling the choke-chain around his enraged self until he could drag it back into line. "I just want to be left alone. On which point, don't you have some masturbation to be getting on with?" Jimmy didn't like that.

"I could punch you right now and feel a whole lot better about myself," he told Gary with thick arms crossed over his chest. "Just think of that before you open your mouth again."

"Don't try to threaten me, Hopkins," he sneered. "All you do is wear your vocabulary out."

For a moment Jimmy looked like he was going to snap. Truth told, if he hadn't taken a dose that morning, Gary would've bounced off the couch and slammed the remote into Jimmy's face long ago. Instead he stayed where he was, motionless, locking eyes with his nemesis. The fury rose, but he kept the hound chained. He'd be a fool to try beat Jimmy physically. Fights weren't his style. It had been a mistake to ever meet Jimmy in open battle, he knew that now.

He could practically see the wheels turning in Jimmy's head; one rusty cog telling him he should punch Gary, and the others locking against it because he couldn't. A fight on the first day in would look bad for Jimmy, unless Gary threw the first punch, and he wasn't stupid or crazy enough for that any more.

"So why don't you go and be a cunt elsewhere, huh Jimmy?" he offered, and Jimmy's eyes narrowed into a glare. It was entertaining to watch the rage almost pop veins out of his forehead. He was easier to read than _The Very Hungry Caterpillar._

Jimmy turned and spat on the floor near Gary, as if to say what he thought of him.

"Fuck this," he growled, and stomped away to lick his wounds. Or to have some floozy do it for him.

"Byee," Gary cooed, twiddling his fingers in a mocking wave, a delighted grin on his face. Match two was his. He was back in the game.


	3. Count your eggs after they're cracked

This is a slightly longer chapter than I'd prefer but I just couldn't cut any off. Anyway enjoy!

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**Part 2**

Gary wasn't sure how he felt about Pete being Head Boy this year. He knew about it – it was hard to miss his pathetic little name carved out on the plaque going back half a century, and the fact that _his_ wasn't. It might have been, once, but wasn't. They didn't have time to get it engraved in the day or so he held the role.

The grim truth was that he'd wanted something and now Petey had it. He'd crawled into the position after Gary while it was still warm. That alone was deserving of retribution, even if it was Jimmy's work in the first place. It had to be Jimmy, because there was no way Petey would get noticed otherwise. One word from the 'King' and there Pete Kowalski stood in a baggy blue blazer.

Pete had arrived along with most of the other students on 'induction day'. Jimmy and Gary had been there the whole weekend prior, circling each other like tigers in the same cage. It was strange that putting more people in the cage made the space bigger, but that's what it felt like. With half a hundred students around, no longer was every footstep and swing of a door Jimmy's doing. Gary could actually relax into the rabble, knowing the chaos of a new school year would cover up Jimmy and his tracks.

Because he'd go after Jimmy when he was good and ready. Pete was here now, and he was target number one. Gary kept his eyes open and intersected him on the dorm steps the morning he arrived back.

"Well if it isn't the new _Head Girl,_" he announced triumphantly, catching Petey by the shoulder as he emerged from the dorms. "And. Look. At. You." He shook an arm sheathed in dark navy blazer – shade of prefect. "How smart you're looking," he cooed, then pinched a good inch of fabric and waggled it. "Fits a bit loose though. Are you sure this isn't the one they had made up in my size?" That was a bitter remark to make, but it was worth it for the look on Petey's face.

"Leave off, Gary," was the all begrudging response he made. It seemed like he'd grown smaller over the summer. Perhaps Gary had gotten bigger. All those healthy hospital meals and pills. "I've got to meet-"

"So important now," he accoladed. "Got your big girl heels on."

"Shut up!" Petey snapped, ripping his shoulder out of Gary's grip. It was almost too easy to get a reaction, like shoplifting candy from the Yum Yum Market. "If you're going to be a jerk then you can-"

"All right, all right," Gary retracted. "No harm meant, Petey. Just a little fun. I missed you over the summer."

"Yeah right," Pete denied, starting the walk to whatever appointment he had to keep.

"No, really," Gary insisted, following without invitation. "Many times I found myself thinking _'Oh I wish Petey was here'_." _Instead of him,_ he added. But he didn't say that part. Nonetheless, Petey seemed like unimpressed, because he glared suspiciously and kept on walking.

"I've got to go," he excused at the main building. "Crabblesnitch-"

"Of course," Gary interrupted. "He's a very busy man, Pete. Better not keep him waiting," he jeered, and made an exaggerated bowing motion with his hand. "Duty calls." As did his.

Petey was the start, but he was not the end. If femme-boy had to grub around Crabblesnitch and call him sir and play Head Suckup, Gary had better things to do. More important people to see than the headmaster.

_"So like, over summer, I heard Mr. Galloway went to rehab,"_ he heard echoing from a corridor on the ground floor as he entered the main building. There weren't classes today, but students were hanging around anyway – there was plenty to catch up on. That was the voice of the news. He went in search and found her standing around with some of the other girls, no one who mattered. He circled on the group and came into Christy Martin's eyeline first.

"Girls," he announced with a purr, keeping his voice smooth and a smile already prepared. He enjoyed the widening of her eyes, the sudden intimidated silence of those around her. They parted for him like he was dividing a sea. "Might I interrupt for a moment?"

"Gary?" one of them gasped. They weren't expecting to see him, that much was certain.

"Weren't you expelled?" another asked in shock and awe.

"It isn't that easy to get rid of me," he replied with a grin. Then an address, "Christy." He zoned onto her, a direct stare that was meant to make everyone else feel like they weren't there. "Care to take a walk?"

"With _you_?" She made it sound as dangerous as it was.

"In the flesh." He twisted his wrists to spread his hands outwards, as if to present himself as evidence. There was deliberation in her eyes, and looks amongst the other girls, but before long she slid a book back into a locker and shut the door.

"Well… okay," she acceded. The girl never could resist a scoop, and he was flavour of the month. Flavour of the year, if things went to plan.

He beckoned her out one of the back doors and around the outside of the main building. What had happened at the end of last year was no secret – not least because Jimmy had gone around telling the story to anyone who'd listen. So Christy knew what he'd done, and what he _was_, but she went with him anyway. He hadn't expected any less from the girl who went around making wild threats in-between spreading any rumour she could get her hands on. Their fondness for distorted truths, especially as a way of inciting drama, was probably the only thing they had in common.

"Sooo… is it true that you were at Happy Volts all summer?" she posed as soon as they were away from the main throughfare. Quick off the starting line as always.

"Please," he scoffed with a veneer over his voice like he'd been galvanised. "Like they could handle _me_ there."

"No?" she gasped. "So then, what happened?"

"If you must know, I spent most of the summer at a secret medical facility in Arizona," he explained with a flawlessly straight face. "High level security, you know." It wasn't a complete lie – he did spend time at a few top hospitals. They just weren't in the Arizona desert and frequented by washed-out movie stars and government agents. This version was more fun, though.

"What did they do to you?" Christy questioned, almost salivating with the news.

"They cured me," he replied unimportantly. "Except for the violent psychotic episodes."

"The _what?"_

"Look, no procedure is perfect," he explained as if he were being incredibly patient with her. "There's always a few things that slip the net."

"So like… does that mean you could go crazy at any time?" she alluded with a greed that almost made her likeable. It was nice to see the same hunger for chaos as he had in himself.

"Probably," he replied with a shrug. "I don't always remember what happened." Having people think he was violent and unstable would make him even more dangerous in their eyes. He'd give them a reason to fear him – even if it was wholly fictitious. He could always fake a psychotic episode if he had a good enough reason.

"So you have like… a split personality?" she asked with fascination.

"Personali_ties_," he corrected, dropping hyperbole as if he were spoon-feeding a pet. Christy didn't question the reality of what he was saying; she'd prefer a dramatic alternate reality to the dull real one. "They _think_ it won't happen again…" he explained, waiting until the moment was ripe in his mouth, not rotten like the GM crops from the school canteen – "maybe." Her eyes widened a little.

"What would you do? Kill someone? Burn down the school?" The fact that those were her first suggestions only proved his understanding of the world. Everyone had a dark side, it was there just waiting for a chance to surface, like bodies dumped in a lake.

"Well… now you've given me those ideas," he replied with concern, as if it had never come to him before. Christy looked somewhere between intimidated and thrilled.

"That's… _cool_," she proclaimed. They were almost at the car park by now. "You know…" she started in a solicitous tone, "the whole crazy-guy thing… it's kinda… hot. In a dangerous way." Gary almost rolled his eyes; _almost. _He stopped himself because he knew that her sad, predictable reaction was useful to him.

He didn't want to have to touch her, it was really last in the things that he wanted, but he saw an opportunity when he had one. Being in Christy Martin's bad books would make harmful rumours spring like weeds in manure, but if you were in her _good _books… if she was in his corner, that could make things very different. Not to mention it would be disgustingly easy to do. As well as just disgusting.

"Dangerous? You think so?" he made himself say with a tone like a knife behind velvet. He held out a hand to her, an invitation behind the car park wall where so many people had hidden from the eyes of prefects. She took it. Of course she took it.

Her fingers were warm in his, a touch of skin-on-skin that wasn't a doctor with a needle or a clenched fist. It was unfamiliar. He didn't really like it.

However, he still closed his hand around hers and jerked her closer, pulling her into the shadow of the wall. He took a careful handful of tie and shirt – a secure grip that wasn't an actual choke – and pushed her against the wall, knuckles over her breast bone.

"What about now?" he asked ominously, and that second was the tipping point. She could've pushed him away and screamed, gotten every prefect in the area flooding over to kick him to the ground and send him back to Happy Volts. Instead she let out a kind of gasp and smiled with open lips. An invitation if he ever saw one.

Holding her against the brickwork and hiding the tension in his fist, Gary leaned in to press his mouth against hers. It wasn't the first time, but it was the first in a while. He hadn't been so stupid as to bother with _this_ since Jimmy got to Bullworth and gave him better things to do. He'd never liked the practice of making out, but he appreciated it was useful, and anything unpleasant could be tolerated long enough to take advantage of. Like being friends with Jimmy.

He only had to stick his tongue into her mouth for about half a minute to make his point, then reminded himself to smile as they backed away. He ignored the part of himself that was mimicking vomiting in the background.

"That was exciting_,_" Christy flattered breathily, and Gary fixed his mouth in place, stretching it into a smile to hide dead eyes. It could've been worse, she wasn't totally disgusting like Eunice or Beatrice. "I have to go," she added quickly, and then, only then, could Gary conjure a genuine smile. Even if she'd wanted it, being sighted making out with Gary Smith on the first day back might be a truth Christy would rather keep hidden for now. Until he'd proven what he was going to be to this school.

"Sure," he murmured, uncurling his hand from her shirt. "See you round." She wandered off, and he made sure her back was turned before he let himself go. Giving a shudder of abhorrence, he twisted his head and spat onto the tarmac, wiping his mouth afterwards like he could sandpaper the sensation away.

He would never become one of those suckers, a bleeding heart or pillar of testosterone, driven by the gratification of some manipulative bitch. Whether sex or the funnier messy stuff, all things led to the same place – a place that Johnny Vincent had long set up camp in. He was far too driven for that.

A bell ringing in the distance was summoning students to the introductory assembly of the year. A boring event in which everyone got to clap and congratulate the prefects and Petey for being Head Girl. He had a feeling even Crabblesnitch would rather he wasn't there, and for once agreed.

However, to prefects and teachers patrolling the grounds it might not look so favourable, so he cast an eye around for a place to weather the event. The bus had been quiet enough since the hobo disappeared under mysterious circumstances, so he crossed the parking lot and shunted back the door.

"Jeesh!" someone shouted as he shunted back the door. Half the bullies were hunched up along the back side, clearly with the same idea he had. Trent and Troy had cigarettes in their mouths, which hung limply as they stared at him with open wonder. The silence was longer than comfortable.

"I thought you got kicked out," Ethan said suspiciously.

"Rumours of my expulsion were greatly exaggerated," Gary replied calmly, keeping the air free of hostility. He wasn't looking for a fight from anyone just yet. "I'm hiding, same as you," he explained. "If you'd rather I found my own beat-up piss-smelling bus…" he invited.

Trent grunted, eyeing him without affection, but without anger either. He'd never done much to the bullies, even when he was tearing down the school. Once Russell was out of the way they'd made their own chaos, and most were too low-minded to be worth manipulating.

"Whatever, dude," he mumbled eventually. "It's cool."

Gary picked his way to the far end of the bus and sat a little way away from them. Troy resumed pulling lazily on a cigarette and blowing the clouds upwards. After noticing Gary watching him, he seemed awkward and then offered up the pack.

"Uh, d'you want one?" he asked diplomatically, and after a moment's deliberation Gary pulled one from the box. He couldn't quite say why – some was curiosity, some was about making the bullies feel like they shared something with him, and a tiny shred might've been labelled peer pressure by anyone less proud.

He'd smoked the odd cigarette before, because it was something to try and he liked anything that he wasn't meant to do. It wasn't any nicer than he remembered, after he lit it and took the first dirty drag, but he found something satisfying about how it felt. It tasted bad, and he wanted to hack when it burned the back of his throat, but he liked that; liked the feeling of pollutant, of deliberately putting something into his body not because he'd been prescribed, but because he _wanted_ to. Making a bad decision just because others had vainly tried to medicate him into making good ones.

He took another deeper breath and held the coughing back, not wanting to seem inexperienced, as he slowly let out a plume of smoke. Then he got a rush, something that took him by the neck and pushed him downwards. A nicotine wave warmer and more pleasant than he'd have imagined. He leaned against the wall of the bus in silence, while the bullies quickly glossed over his presence once more.

"So this year, I'm _definitely_ going to nail Ms. Phillips," Trent insisted, clearly resuming a conversation. "This is it, this is the time. I'm legal and everything." Gary snorted at the suggestion, scorn and amusement, then the three bullies' eyes focused on him crossly.

"I didn't say anything," he remarked innocently, and pulled again on the cigarette. After dirtying his mouth on Christy, it felt good to burn it off his tongue with tobacco, to let the tension bleed out of him in slow, measured breaths of bluish smoke.

The idiots eventually got over themselves and started to chatter more nonsense, letting Gary take his peace and smoke in silence. He pulled up his knees and pressed his fingertips together, feeling meditative and calm as he ran things over in his head.

The nicotine buzz was new to him, and better than the spectre of his ADD medication. That lurked like a phantom, manipulating him without always making clear how or when it was acting. He found calm for twenty minutes or so, then the jitters started to return.

"Can I have another?" he asked without warning, and the bullies looked over at him like he'd asked if they fancied a gangbang with the hobo.

"Uhhh… I guess," Troy conceded. "You got a dollar?"

"Sorry," he apologised, knowing that he had about three in his back pocket. "I'll get you back."

"Well… okay," he sighed, tapping out another cigarette and letting him have it. His pack was almost full, so he was freer than if it'd been one of his last; Gary also did a great shot of sincerity when he wanted to. The second smoke was even better than the first; perhaps because he was getting the hang of inhaling, or more likely because he'd got it for free when he easily could've paid, and that made anything sweeter.

Eventually a rising level of rabble, flowing up like tide, let him know the assembly was over. Gary practically bolted from the bus back to the dorm. He needed to be there before Petey, so he could follow him and find out which room was his.

He ended up waiting for a while, while the suspicious and unfriendly eyes of his fellow students passed like headlights on a motorway, flashing through the darkness full of hate and fear before speeding onward down the one-way carriageway of existence. They resented him and what he'd done, unable to understand what it'd meant.

All Gary had done was show the true face of the school – he hadn't _made_ a monster, it was there all along. Seeing anyone pretend otherwise made him sick. There were always monsters under the bed, in the closet, and denying didn't stop them being real.

By the time Pete finally appeared the light was fading from the sky. He must have had some important Head of School duties to keep him so late; sucking Crabblesnitch's cock, or whatever it was he needed to secure his position.

"Now, _there's_ our special boy," Gary proclaimed with a low, sick purr as Petey came in past the common room door. The face Petey pulled, knowing he was being waited for, was one of the best things that had happened to Gary all day.

Pete stared at him for a moment, clearly thinking about saying something, and then turned away down the hallway without a word. That sat about as well as Gord Vendome after a long hard night of taking _orders_ from Derby Harrington – or whoever else he wanted violating him when Jimmy wasn't around. Gary was the one who ignored people, he didn't _get_ ignored. Ever.

So he started after Petey and noted the door he went into. A minute of waiting – in which Gary imagined he'd run after Pete and thrown him to the floor, instead of the meagre, docile walk he'd manage – then opened it up and strolled in without an ounce of warning.

"Hey!" Pete practically squeaked. "You could at least knoc- oh," he cut off, seeing who it was, and knowing the reprimand fell on deaf ears. "What do you want, Gary?"

"Is that all the courtesy I get?" he replied, his tone pulled thin and tight as a trap wire. He'd string it up around Pete's room, nailed to the every wall and crossing every open space, so that the more he struggled the more tangled he became.

"Pretty much," Pete said with a grudge-bearing tone. But his fragility, the same weakness that'd told Gary he could do almost anything to Petey and he'd let him get away with it, was still there.

"Oh fantastic, _you too,_" he accused with a bitter frown.

"Me too… what?" Pete asked, because he couldn't resist a hook, like the sucker he was.

"Treating me like shit on the bottom of your shoe, Petey," he explained concisely. "Is that what I get now?"

"That's what you deserve after-" Petey started with a lot more confidence than he finished.

"After what? After I had a _mental breakdown?_" Gary said coldly, keeping his body closed, trying to seem small.

"That's not-" Petey flailed for words, which was good; that meant his guard was already down. "What do you mean, mental breakdown?" he asked, less assured than he'd been before.

"What would _you_ call it?" Gary snapped. Round One was his preferred name.

"Well I… you turned the school into a madhouse," Pete insisted, trying to cling to the threads of his conviction, already so close from slipping out of his hands.

"Yes, and then I climbed up onto the school roof and practically jumped," he hissed. Dark implications for the proper impact. There was bitterness in slandering himself so harshly, but as he'd forced himself to admit, he'd fucked up. Sure, he hadn't actually had a mental breakdown, but explaining it that way wasn't going to shatter Petey's conviction.

"Well… that was just…" Pete was running low on words he could pull out of his little head boy pockets. Gary closed in like a predator with a scent of blood; he'd had the first accidental taste of empathy, and now it was just a matter of time and pressure.

"You call me crazy, dismiss my actions as insane. Then, when you want to blame me, I've suddenly done it on purpose."

"You _did_ do it on purpose," Pete argued.

"You don't _get_ it, do you?" he snapped impatiently. "The point of being crazy is that you don't _know_ what you're doing." It was hard to swallow his pride and write off the stability of his own mind like a meaningless expense, but he had to make sacrifices if he wanted to get it all back. "Do you think I spent most of my summer in mental institutions because I liked it?" He phrased it politely, like he was asking for milk or sugar, but that was what really hit home.

"I…" Petey looked like he'd question whether one and one made two at that point, standing between his bed and desk like he wasn't comfortable in his own body any more. "What?" he murmured. "I thought you were only at Happy Volts for-"

"A day, yes. I'm not talking about that asylum," he glowered, finding it hard to hide the anger and fear the mere mention of the place brought to him. "I didn't spend my summer at home doing finger-paintings of happy horses like you, Pete. I went through doctors, nurses, five trips to various mental hospitals and spent more time at _therapists_ than in my own house. How does that sound for fun?"

He wasn't sure if that figure was right or not – it felt about right, but he didn't really bother to count and they all tended to merge. Pete, on the other hand, looked like he was about to cry.

"I… I'm sorry," he said quietly. "I didn't know about that."

"You didn't bother to find out," Gary shredded without mercy or restraint; Petey deserved it, because he _hadn't_ bothered to find out. He'd taken up fortification without guilt or fair judgement, led on by Jimmy and his half-baked morals. For that, he deserved everything he got.

"You took it on yourself to judge me without questioning, Pete. I suffered thousands of dollars in therapy and treatment, swallowed hundreds more in pills, and when I came back to this hell-hole_ just about _stable, I'm treated exactly the same. Even by you, who should at least understand what it's like to be an outcast."

He had him on the ropes now, and the taste was fantastic; crushing Petey's attempt to stand up to him between his teeth like ripe pips. Pomegranate, the fruit of the underworld. He was already condemned to stay, so he might as well go the whole hog.

"I… I…" Petey stumbled like a lost lamb.

"So before you get on your high horse." He was closing the hangman's noose, hand ready on the trapdoor lever. "With your fancy fucking Head Boy blazer and everyone pretending to respect you because Jimmy's got his hand up your ass working you like a puppet, maybe you could try to consider that I might actually have thought of you as the _one_ person in this place who'd hear me out, because clearly no one else has enough of a brain for it."

Although the last grain of Petey's conviction was washing away under the tidal wave Gary had thrown at him, he clung on by his fingertips.

"Are you serious?" Even now he still questioned Gary's lies – and the better part _was _lies – but Gary had an answer.

"If I wasn't serious, would I come in here and spill my guts at you?" he suggested sourly. "You think I _want_ everyone to know I spent all summer going between looney bins? That I'm back here with a closet full of fresh medication designed to stop me going nuts and _really_ hurting someone?"

In some ways, he liked dramatising reality beyond recognition. Turning small truths into complete fabrications made them distant; just another piece of fiction he used to control people rather than something real that he had to learn to cope with.

"I'm… I didn't mean it like that, Gary," Pete offered with the attitude of a scolded puppy trying to cover up for an accident on the carpet. "I'm sorry."

"It's fine, femme-boy," he said with an exasperated sigh. "Maybe I was expecting too much."

"No," Petey said just a little too quickly. "I mean, it's not too much to expect. I… I shouldn't have been mean, Gary. It's not me." It really was very intensely satisfying to see Petey's foundations crumble, and all in the space of one conversation. If he didn't want to be manipulated and bullied, he should've learned to stand up for himself better.

"So… all friends again?" Gary proposed, and Petey looked worried.

"I thought you didn't need friends," he replied mistrustfully, as he had every right to be.

"Everyone needs friends," Gary asserted. "Even me." It was hard not to smile, let alone laugh as he spouted such nonsense, but he fortunately had a lot of experience in keeping a straight face.

Petey was staring at him like he'd be able to see past his eyes, right into his brain if he looked hard enough for the truth. Even if he could, he'd probably run screaming at what he found in there.

"Okay, Gary," he said with a quiet, relenting sigh. "Friends."


	4. Turn Prey Into Meat

**Predator **

**Chapter 3**

* * *

Gary wished he could kick his poxy little bedside table to pieces and then set it on fire. It wasn't really what it was that mattered, it was what was inside it. Medication. Neat bottles of pills labelled with instructions he could recite by heart: twice a day, two with water.

Two by two down in double rounds. It took more than a thin sheet to smother out his personality. They needed to choke him with covers, fill his mouth and nose with feathers until he couldn't breathe anything but down and became as light and soft inside as everyone wanted him to be.

He was deciding if he was going to take a dose today. After last night, he'd had an angry self to contend with, furious about Pete. Even though he needed Pete to be his piece on the board, part of him knew he was still too nice. As if he actually liked the little whelp. He'd reminded himself it was all a scam, a way to neutralise Pete before he caused any trouble, but it wasn't the same. He was still at war with himself.

As he stared a the drawer and wondered if he should take his medication, that same disgusted reflection looked on in contempt. Like a prism divided white light into all its colours, his personality was split off and divided into shades. This one hated him along with everything else about the world. It laughed at him, mocking his weakness, and he spitefully refused to let it win. He wouldn't take his medication, let it lie there like canopic jars of bones.

However, when classes started concentrating was like trying to get ball-bearings through a sieve. The teachers blared start-of-year nonsense and assigned them mundane, repetitive tasks while his mind pinballed between thoughts like a rickety arcade game.

Students were giving him a wide berth, and his dark aura probably only contributed to his reputation. He could have picked a victim to try and cheer himself up, but he wasn't sure if it would make him feel better or worse right now. If things didn't go exactly as he wanted with a target he often ended up more irritated than when he started.

When the final bell eventually gave him mercy and rang, he bolted from the classroom and went straight for the garage, biking into Bullworth Town to gorge himself on junk food. Going without medication brought his appetite back with black-hole intensity, and the cafeteria wasn't actually food so lunch didn't count.

He went to the Yum Yum Market and slipped every other candy bar into his jacket, taking only what he couldn't steal up to the counter. As the weary shopkeeper rang him up, he noticed the displays behind the vendor – mostly booze and tobacco. Although there was a dirty ID sign poked into one corner, everyone knew that for a few extra bucks you could pay for the convenience of not getting your card out. Impulse grabbed him by the tongue.

"A packet of Lucky Strike too," he announced, dropping down some of the spare cash he'd saved in stealing as much as he was buying.

"Ten or twenty?" the vendor asked with listless eyes. What did he care if kids wanted to get an early start on their cancer?

"Twenty," he answered agitatedly, and then palmed a lighter as the clerk turned around. Once he was outside, he found a quiet bench near the town square, ate six candy bars in a row, then unwrapped his cigarettes and lit one with shaking fingers. He felt better out here, where no one cared to recognise or judge him for anything. The first drag was hot and foul, but he let he nicotine creep over him and forced himself to enjoy the burn.

By the time it was finished he'd put his thoughts back into their place. There was something calming about the repetition of raising the cigarette to inhale and settling back down again; just enough background occupation allow him to think straight.

His biggest problem was the waiting game. He'd had to mess around for an entire year before he got Jimmy last time, and he wasn't sure if he had the patience for that again. He needed something to happen now. Too restless to stay seated for long, he got up and started the walk back to Bullworth, resolving to check in with Pete; he wasn't much, but being Head Boy might make him privy to some useful information.

Pete wasn't in, but Gary let himself in with a steel ruler and got nice and comfortable on Pete's bed. He left the lights off so no one would think anything was amiss, but in the darkness and comfort, it was easy to drift off. Often when he went off meds it became all too easy to lose ten, fifteen hours and still not feel rested, yet still have that maniacal energy that had to be doing something all the time or he'd go insane. It took a while to adjust to the feeling of being wired and exhausted at the same time, but he would have to do it. It was that or medication for the rest of his life.

He woke to a clap of noise and burst of light through his eyelids. His first thought had been that he was still in a hospital – one where they turned on the lights in the morning to let you know it was time to wake up. Still half-asleep and groggy, the memory was rancid and not even the relief of realising that he wasn't there any more took the bitterness away.

When he saw Jimmy standing behind Pete at the door, nothing of his previous calm or composure remained. He scowled like he was drinking acid.

"Gary?" Petey queried. "What are you doing here?"

"I was paying a visit, Petey," he said hoarsely, throat raw from cigarettes and sleep. "You kept me waiting."

"I didn't... you..." Pete fumbled for words as if they were marbles falling out of his fingers.

"You don't have any business being in Petey's room," Jimmy cut in aggressively. Gary closed his eyes and imagined for a moment that Jimmy just wasn't there. That the entire existence of James Hopkins had never happened.

"Almost sounds like you're jealous," he taunted, working motion back into his body and stirring from the bed. "Don't tell me you girls were on a date?" Pete looked aghast, but Jimmy didn't flinch.

"None of your damn business," Jimmy retorted. Gary almost wanted to laugh because it was exactly his business. Regardless of how they dressed it up, anyone swapping fluids with Jimmy was an opportunity for exploitation.

"So hostile," he tutted, pulling himself up to his full height, though not daring to look directly at Jimmy. That could wait until a better a day, a day when he could look him in the eye and know he was winning. "I just came by to see a friend."

"A friend?" Jimmy echoed vindictively. "The only friends you have are the voices in your goddam head, Gary." That was as rich as it was wrong – they were just as cruel to him as they were to everyone else. His inner critic was the impossible standard he had to meet. If spared himself no mercy, why should others deserve it?

"Do you see what I mean, Pete?" Gary asked, waiting for the bear-trap he'd laid to snap shut. Sinking cold metal teeth into flesh and bone, until Petey was chained to him irrevocably.

"Leave Pete out of this," Jimmy bit. "He's-"

"Uhh... look, Jimmy," Petey interjected sheepishly, and Jimmy's look was scalding. "I mean... maybe I did say something like... Well, Gary's gotta have someone to keep an eye on him, right?"

"What are you trying to say?" Jimmy growled with a look equal parts confused and angry. "Don't tell me he's convinced you."

"It's not like that," Petey insisted. "Just that... well, you know how it is to have everyone in the school hate you."

"I didn't deserve it." Jimmy cast an ogreish scowl at Gary. "He does."

"But he was crazy and off his meds," Petey protested. Gary was happy to let them talk around him for the time being. It was like watching a script he'd written performed from the audience, lost in the dimmed lights and darkness.

"I'm sure he told you that," Jimmy retorted.

"Yes, but he's been in... well, he told me-"

"He told you anything you needed to hear to feel bad for him, Pete," Jimmy pointed out. It was almost satisfying that no matter what he did, Jimmy knew he was never deserving of sympathy. Gary liked that – that at least one person understood he was never going to be a victim. Even if he hated Jimmy still.

"You know what..." Pete started, and for a second it was almost as if he was going to stand up for himself. A flash of bravery that disappeared like light reflecting off rippling water. "I'm kinda tired," he excused meekly. "I have to get up early tomorrow to go over prefect-"

"Don't bore me with the details, Petey," Gary contributed. "I'll go back to sleep and you'll have to bunk up with Jimmy." He gave a Cheshire Cat grin. "Or maybe you'd like that?" Pete looked away quickly, but under the light it was almost as if he'd blushed.

"All right, I've had enough of you," Jimmy declared brutishly. "Beat it, Gary."

"This isn't your room," he reminded the oaf, bleeding the words like a low, cold fog over water.

"Yeah, but this is my fist." Jimmy raised the clump of bone and gristle. "So unless you wanna make a date with it, get your ass out of here." Gary didn't respond to Jimmy, but laid Petey with a look like a drill. He was going to have to call the shots. Whose side would he come down on?

"Actually," Petey announced like he was talking to his left and right shoes, "if you both wouldn't mind going." He was evading the issue. The only reason Gary didn't snap and start throwing all Petey's nice sentimental photo-frames of his family at the wall was because Jimmy looked equally pissed off.

"You're kidding," Jimmy snapped, but no one was laughing.

"It's late already," Pete pointed out sheepishly. "I've gotta get some sleep."

"Wet dreams to be had, am I right?" Gary baiting, sitting up on bed and skipping his eyes right past Jimmy.

"Get lost, Gary," Pete said like he was trying to have some meaning to his voice. It didn't really work.

"After you, Jimmy," he invited, watching as Jimmy stared at Pete for some intervention, frowning as none came. He was waiting for them both to go. They left in surly, barbed silence.

"If I catch you anywhere near Pete again," Jimmy murmured before they parted ways in the corridor. "I'll finish you."

"Promises, promises," he sneered, not looking back as Jimmy stomped off to his den. A loss for Jimmy was almost the same as a win for him. It was enough.

However, though he had no criticism waiting for him back in his room, he'd been asleep so recently he couldn't seem to shut down. For all his wanting things to happen, the pieces he collected didn't seem to make any sense. Christy was on his side in some way or shape, and Pete wasn't against him, but it didn't mean anything. He didn't know what to do with these things yet. He knew what he wanted – to take down Jimmy, to obliterate him any way he could – but he lacked the blueprints of how he was going to get it done.

He sat on the floor, pressing his back against the side of his desk and tucked his knees up near his chest. Bending his arms back around his legs, almost making a protective cage around himself, he pressed his fingertips together and rested them stiffly against his mouth.

It wasn't an angry, critical self that spoke out of him this time. Those were appeased for now. This was the rational one. The one that often got told to shut the fuck up while his temper set loose.

"You aren't going to last like this," it told him, towering over Gary like an adult standing up to a child, straight and aloof in comparison to his huddled, drawn-in mess on the floor.

"Maybe not," he mumbled, parting his hands and sliding his face forwards until he held his forehead by the temples. He shut his eyes, not needing them to imagine the figure.

"It'll help," the sensible phantom remarked. Didn't need to say what. They both knew.

"I don't want help," he told it.

"What do you want?" it posed cruelly.

"I want to be able to concentrate without a fucking pill," he declared aloud, confessing the sad truth into the isolation of his room. A hoarse voice admitting its own weakness.

"So learn," he answered himself spitefully, "but you're not going to manage it like this." It was true. Today all he'd really achieved was a half-win over Pete Kowalski and the start of a smoking habit. That wasn't worth anything in the bigger picture. He was better than this.

"Why should I?" he questioned, waiting to be convinced.

"Because it's this or accept defeat," he put to himself. He wouldn't admit it to anyone else, but his confidence had been challenged. He wouldn't be here if he'd beaten Jimmy the first time. He wasn't stupid enough not to see that. He was smart; he knew the answer would come if he could hold together long enough to see it.

Okay," he breathed, finally relenting to his own consul. "Tomorrow." He had to keep the balance – last year demonstrated exactly how well a boycott worked for him. Considering he basically stopped turning up to classes, he was lucky he even passed. This wasn't giving in, he told himself, it was strategic battle planning.

Eventually he picked himself up off the floor, yanked open his window and lit another cigarette, smoking into the cooling night air. With the pleasant clutch of nicotine cradling him, he was eventually able to get to sleep. But when the morning came, so did trouble.

Something was wrong from the moment he opened his eyes to the piercing shriek of an alarm clock. He was going to take his meds today, that was it. Only this time the hand down his throat was his own.

The greatest problem he had with medication was the way it changed. Not the varying drugs, but the way it changed. How it was sometimes harmless, helpless little powdered pills in a bottle – something he could take to remove the pressure of handling his mind all by himself – yet at other times it was a hundred foot high, an oppressing blockade that he couldn't get past.

He couldn't win. If he took them he would loathe himself for relying on drugs, but if he didn't take them he felt like the wires had been uncrossed in his head. Sometimes that was great, but it was hard to handle; like going from a moped up to a Harley.

This was one of those days where medication was like the world on Atlas's shoulders. He'd resolved to dose just so he'd get through classes without feeling like he wanted to smash a beaker over someone's head, but when he got up and knew it was hanging over him, he might as well have been in hospital with pills in a little paper cup again. Feeling like he had to take them or risk the consequences.

He avoided confronting the bottle blocking up his door and went for cigarettes instead, perching on the window frame with one leg up and one hanging down, pulling the first corrupted breath of the day. It felt better than taking prescription drugs. At least this was something he chose, not something he had to do.

He was over half-way through the smoke, enjoying the ritual and actually coming to like the sensation, when there was a knock at his door.

"Yes?" he called at it, almost believing that it wouldn't open with a four foot tall pill case in front of it. But it opened easily, no resistance as it passed through the space of an object he put there only in his mind.

"Gary?" a familiar tone called out, and he grimaced as he dragged on his smoke. It could be worse. Petey's head popped around the door like a puppet on a stick.

"Femme-boy," he muttered, pleased that Petey had come for him but still grumpy. It never did to reward him too much anyway.

"Look, about last ni-" Petey started, but didn't get more than a step into the room before he noticed what Gary had in his hand. "You're smoking?" he said indignantly. "You can't do that in here!"

"Shouldn't, Petey, not can't," he corrected, raising the cigarette to his lips again and sucking. He enjoyed the disapproval and horror on Petey's face. It was good to know he could still shock him. "You were saying?"

"Well... I... when did you start that?" he nagged with such effectiveness he could've had his hair in rollers and a roast in the oven. "You didn't smoke bef-"

"Why should you care?" Gary accused, blowing smoke out of the window with a billow of steam. "You certainly don't care about me when Jimmy's around." Petey looked like Gary had reached out and given him a slap, which was of course, the right reaction.

"That's not true," he admonished weakly. "I just wanted to..."

"To what? Explain to me that you have no backbone, so you'll let Jimmy do or say anything, no matter how unfair it is?" he accused savagely. "Well don't worry." He picked up like a silver lining in a stormcloud, offering a patronising smile. "I knew that already."

"Gary, no, it's not like that," he countered. "Jimmy just... needs time, okay?"

"And what do I get until then?" he asked, bundling Petey up in words and agreements until he was swaddled like a baby. He took another drag on his cigarette, feeling better, almost feeling confident enough to walk through the bottle, and watched Petey's eyes follow his hand up to his lips and away again.

"You've just gotta be a little patient," Pete entreated. If it weren't against his principles, Gary would admire how Petey was operating. After shutting them both down last night, he was here alone to smooth things over. No doubt he'd do the same to Jimmy. Gary must have taught him a few things while he'd been pushing him around for fun.

"I don't want to be patient," he snapped, and he did actually mean that one – it was about as close to honest with Petey as he'd get. He felt irritation climbing up the back of his neck, pinpricks as each leg of the monstrous spider crawled higher. His cigarette was almost done, so he set it between his lips and sucked the last few drags from it, the smoke bitter and acrid.

As his chest filled the burn caught in his throat, and he began to cough, hacking hard as it spilled back out of him. He'd only started yesterday, he was allowed some beginner's leeway.

"Jeesh, Gary," Petey murmured pityingly. "How's that going to help, huh?"

"You're not my mother," he snapped, stubbing the end and throwing it out of his window to mingle with the rest of the trash.

"But I am your friend... right?" Pete suggested gingerly, not trusting Gary as he had every right to do.

"Close enough," he bit.

"So I can say when you're doing something that's bad for you." The tone in his voice was poisoned honey; friendly, caring, and at the same time trying to influence him, so that he fitted the mould. Petey was practically a poster boy for the fucking cause. Make everyone as generic and pathetic as him, then watch how well they all got along.

"Just back off!" he caught himself hissing like a cat driven into a corner, his tone angry and uncontrollable. Petey didn't say anything, just stood across the doorway in his nice ironed slacks and stupid Head Boy blazer, a look of pathos in his eyes.

"Gary... have you... uh..." he started to fumble through words, grasping for them like a clumsy attempt to feel up a girl. "Have you been keeping up with your... yunno," he trailed off, but still said more than enough. Gary's fuse wasn't long at the best of times, but Petey was observant enough to detect the difference between 'short' and 'microscopic' – on a bad day off medication, a strong breeze in just the wrong direction could set him off.

"Have I been taking my meds? How considerate of you to wonder, friend," he said with a wire-garotte tone, one that could draw blood if he wrapped it around Petey and pulled hard enough.

"I was just-"

"Just thinking my business was your business," he concluded. "Tell me, am I the only one who sees the irony here?"

"Irony?" Petey quizzed.

"Yes. When it's a cigarette you bitch and moan at me, Gary it's bad for you, Gary stop that," he parodied in his scathing impression of Petey's voice. "Then one minute later you want me to take my meds. They're all drugs, Petey, no difference between them. One's given to me by quacks who don't take the time to know me before they shove chemicals down my throat, and the other I chose for myself because I wanted to. Well fine, you know best, femme-boy," he commended, getting up from the window ledge and pacing to the drawer where he kept them.

"Gary-" Petey started protestation, but it was too late for that because he needed to make a point now. He ripped open the drawer and snatched up the slow-release grenade; the bottle that just made his explosions happen slower and later rather than not at all, and flicked the top off.

"Bon appetite," he announced as he raised it up like toast. Petey looked on in headlight-struck horror; a bunny about to go under the wheels of a truck as Gary put the rim to his lips and tipped it back. Instead of two he took a nice hearty mouthful, then lowered the bottle and swallowed.

"Wait, don't!" Petey yelped, running around the bed and then stopping just short of him. He knew what could happen if he tried to get in Gary's way when he didn't want to be stopped. Gary peered down his nose smugly. "What did you- oh never mind," he rushed anxiously. "How many did you take? Is that safe? Hell... maybe you should see Nurse McRae..." he babbled, bringing his hands up to furrow in his hair.

Gary twisted up one corner of his mouth, lips pressed tightly together, and raised a finger to stop Petey's panic attack. He reached for his arm and started to pose it like a doll, turning Petey's palm upwards, flat and open. Then, as a confused crease appeared in his forehead, Gary leaned down and spat a mouthful of pills into Pete's open hand.

"Gross!" Petey yelped, lashing his arm back and tossing the soggy remains of Gary's medication around his room. "What did you do that for?!"

"To teach you a lesson," he lectured, still quietly fuming. He backed away and wiped his mouth on his hand. Though he'd spat most of them out, he had actually swallowed a few, and didn't have an exact way of telling how many – until they started to work, at least. It would be fun; like a lottery where instead of a jackpot, he risked overshooting the landing pad and becoming even more agitated and tweaked out than normal.

"Okay, okay... I'm sorry, Gary," Petey said obligingly.

"That's all right, femme-boy, you can't help being a whiny little bitch. I forgive you," he answered, straddling the line between sarcasm and sincerity.

"Are you gonna be all right?" he added tentatively, and was close enough for Gary to hook an arm around his neck and jostle him uncomfortably, which he did with relish. Invading other people's personal space was one of his favourite pasttimes, especially when they were too pathetic to stand up to him.

"Why? Do you care?" he simpered. "I'll be fine." He probably wouldn't.

"Come on, let's go get some breakfast," he cajoled, but Petey just shirked under his grip. "Oh I'm sorry," he sneered with a derogatory moan, "did I hurt your feelings? Poor, bullied little Head Girl. Just come on," he ordered again, releasing Petey and snatching his bag from the foot of his bed. This was the test; would Petey follow him, even though he was being deliberately unpleasant?

Of course he did.


	5. Earthquake Checkers

Gary had already successfully bullied Pete into going to breakfast with him. Half the students didn't even believe he _was _back, so he made a point of grinning maliciously at anyone who'd meet his eyes on the way. Down but not for the count; back two days and already rubbing elbows with the Head Boy. He'd have them all in his pocket soon enough – or out of Jimmy's at least.

When they sat down with their trays of imitation slop, students seemed to instinctively leave a space all around them. Like Gary could snap at any second and lash out at the nearest passer-by.

"At least we have plenty of space," he remarked. He'd been observing reactions since they sat down; one glare and younger kids practically dropped their trays, while others bit their lips and pretended not to see him. There was a muted, forced quiet to the air – no one wanted to be loud enough to invite his attention. Then Jimmy walked in and the IQ of the room dropped a whole decimal place. He was with the despicable Taylor girl, an arm around her waist as if Edna's cooking wasn't already sickening enough.

Moving like a magnet among rusty nails, Jimmy picked up trash as he passed through the room; respecting nods and friendly exchanges as if the entire school had turned into one big happy family. Of course, as soon as he left they would be at one another's throats again, but that they even pretended was disheartening. It undermined Gary's belief in the way things worked. There could be no cooperation in an anarchic system, not ever.

He could have imagined doing something violent and disgusting to Jimmy; gutting him like a rabbit with one of Edna's knives, punching him until his ugly face pointed inside instead of out, but the medication seemed to be kicking in because such visions didn't leap to him. Distraction wasn't pulling like a fish-hook in the corner of his mouth, suddenly yanking his attention into vivid fantasies. He thought calmly, coolly, about their positions reversed.

It wasn't that he wanted to be in Jimmy's position, not with those morons fawning all over him. He'd like the idiots to leave him alone unless he needed them for something. What he relished, though, was considering Jimmy in his seat; Jimmy getting the looks of fear and suspicion – Jimmy being too stigmatised to make conversation. Jimmy who was powerless because everyone believed he was a liar and lunatic.

Then it all lit up like the Watcher outside that hellhole of a place. He _could_ reverse their places – the important part, at least. It wouldn't even be hard. He just had to make everyone think that Jimmy was crazy, that he was the unstable one, the volcano that could go off at any point.

It was perfect, because it added the satisfaction of showing everyone just how twisted Jimmy really was: he was no god, he wasn't even normal. He was a violent-tempered thug with aggression and authority issues, and if he hadn't _helped_ the school with his psychotic interference he'd probably be swallowing mood-soothing meds right alongside Gary.

It would be great. It would be _better_ than great.

"You look... happy," Petey remarked suspiciously. "Why?"

"Don't be such a downer, Petey," he scolded, but almost playful rather than bitter. "I'm enjoying myself."

"You aren't doing anything," he pointed out, but Gary grinned and raised a finger to his temple.

"I'm enjoying myself in _here_," he elaborated, and Petey pulled a face. He couldn't monitor Gary's thoughts, that was the _one_ place they still couldn't get him.

With his course of action illuminated, The first class of the day went by tolerably, but considering he'd swallowed a quadruple dose of medication that morning teaching Pete not to nag, by lunchtime the feeling of being alert and able to focus had progressed to a yawning restlessness that bordered on full-blown anxiety. He knew he'd overdosed, it served him right for taking anything at all.

"Uh... are you all right?" Petey asked as the bell for classes shattered the chaos of lunch break. He was ignoring the obvious – which was that Gary was off the track and _far _from all right.

"I don't need you getting up in my face right now, femme-boy," he hissed.

"Is it because-" Petey attempted, but Gary wouldn't let him speak.

"Just leave me alone," he snapped, waving Petey away like a helpless, well-meaning moth that just wanted to bump uselessly against a light-bulb, trying to get something it'd never be able to have. Gary needed to find a quiet spot, have a cigarette and either calm down or use his manic thoughts for something _useful, _he decided. Attending lessons wasn't part of that.

The dorm wasn't an option because there were usually people milling around, and if he was missed that was the first place they'd look. He headed for the library instead; it'd be empty while the nerds were all in their classes like good little conformists. He made it to the space behind the wall, up close to the fence that led around to the observatory, and lit up a cigarette with a slightly jittery hand.

Even though he trembled as he put the filter in his mouth, he'd have downed the pills all over again: Petey wasn't going to lecture him about taking meds any time soon. Anyway, he was planning to work his way off them, to wean himself without anyone noticing. That way, when it did come out he hadn't been taking his pills, he'd have been off them long enough to prove he didn't need medication. Because he _knew_ that he didn't.

However, that depended on his learning how to get by without them. But it hadn't always been like this. When he'd first arrived at Bullworth he'd been unmedicated and fine – well, fine in _his _opinion – but a few incidents into his first year the school had taken a long, hard look at him and seen a new guinea pig for their experiments.

From there it'd gotten worse and worse. Dependencies built up alarmingly fast, and his parents had thrown themselves at the chemical solution like their lives depended on it. As if therapists and child counselors weren't bad enough, they added doctors and pharmacists to the list of spectres with their faces pressed up against the hamster cage, watching him run the wheel.

With a moment of peace, Gary had thought he'd be able to start assembling his plan. Now he knew what he was going to do with Jimmy, he could figure out the details. However, before he could get stuck in footsteps rattled in his ear like airgun pellets. There was someone coming his way.

He could have climbed over the wall and found somewhere else to think, but he'd lit his cigarette already and didn't want to move. Maybe it was just a nerd, he thought hopefully; they were easy to get rid of.

His luck was not so rich. The door out back opened and in what he guessed was a guy's jacket and leather pants so tight she'd probably lost all sensation below the waist – which was likely a bonus for her – Lola Lombardi sauntered into the yard.

"Oh," she said in a tone caught between discomfort and intrigue. "It's you." She clearly hadn't expected anyone to be here either. Gary grunted dismissively, keeping his back up against the wall and pulling on his cigarette. "Well aren't you going to say anything?" she slurred in a babydoll voice, trying to regain ground. If he hadn't wanted it Gary would've considered stubbing his cigarette out in her hair, just to make her scream.

"I sincerely hope you're not here to see pee-stain," he muttered at last, his voice cross and unwilling to be summoned. He didn't want to waste time and good breath when he'd come here to _think_. "Get lost."

"Oooh," Lola taunted like it was a game to be threatened. "Aren't you the big, _scary_ boy?" She was swaying her hips like she couldn't afford to keep her ass still or it'd go out of fashion. "Hey, give a girl a cigarette?" she posed, and Gary wondered if there was anything she wouldn't stoop to.

"No," he snorted with a laugh, slipping his own between his lips and pulling on it with immense satisfaction.

"Well, give me a drag of yours," she negotiated, and he overtly scoffed.

"Definitely not." He wanted to suck on something that'd been in Lola's mouth about as much as he wanted Galloway to smash a whiskey bottle over his head and carve the alphabet out on his arm.

"I know you think you're all tough now," she said spitefully, "but to me you're just another little boy." She didn't have anything to fear from psychos, Gary noted. She made boyfriends out of them.

"Is there a reason you're still talking?" he said venomously.

"I'm just interested," was her greedy response. "After all, you're the boy that turned the school upside down, aren't you?" She wasn't much different from the rest. They were wary of him, scared even, but they still wanted a piece of the great Gary Smith.

"And?" he prompted, dragging again. His cigarette was trapped between his first two fingers, right up by his knuckles, so when he brought it to his mouth his hand covered his jaw. He could conceal his grins or grimaces that way.

"Everyone's talking about you," she commented, pouting her lips like he actually cared what she did with her face. "I was wondering if the hype matches up to the reality."

"You didn't come here looking for me," he retorted; she couldn't have. Most likely she really _was_ here for the loose-bladdered wonder.

"Maybe not, but you're here now," she purred, "so tell me,_ hot shot,_ are you as much of a big deal as I hear you are?"

He didn't know what Christy had been saying, but Gary wouldn't be surprised if this could somehow be tailed back to her – she never _did_ like to keep her mouth shut. He met Lola's gaze without wavering, totally level, and just a hint of a smile on his lips.

"Bigger," he said in a dirty tone.

"Ohh?" she drawled, sleuthing closer to him. "Think you can... back that up?" She made it clear what sort of evidence she worked on.

"As if," he shot down. "You're not playing me." He was the player, not the chump, and he could do without Johnny Vincent baying for his blood for no good reason. For a _good _reason, though...

"I don't play people, honey," she argued. "I just have a lot of love."

"And where does it get anyone stupid enough to take it?" he retorted. He'd wondered before if Lola was actually a master player before– she certainly got up to her fair share of instigating fights and convincing weak-minded men that she had feelings for them. She could have the school running out of her pants if she wanted.

However, she never did anything useful with the power she gained. She was useless in the end. Nothing more than an insufferable drama queen with low standards and a high sex drive.

"I shoulda figured you were all talk," she baited. "Jimmy did beat you after all. I'm sure he beats you at _everything_." It was a cheap pop, but just enough to get him riled – more riled, at least. Gary considered grabbing her by her trophy jacket and doing something ridiculous, as if it'd prove her wrong. That, however, would require touching her, and it was exactly what she wanted, so he just kept pulling on his cigarette.

"Sell your poisoned cup elsewhere," he remarked acridly. "I'm not thirsty."

"Fine," she huffed, displaying her disapproval like a set of feathers on a bird. She was another creature who clearly hated to lose a game. "What if I tell Johnny we were making out?"

"Then you'd be a liar," Gary pointed out, though he wasn't one to talk. It was practically the pot and kettle convention in their little alleyway.

"So? He'd believe me, he loves me," she simpered.

"Let me get this straight," he asserted, flicking ash off his cigarette near her feet. "If I _don't_ make out with you, you'll tell Johnny we were, and if I do, you won't?"

"I'm... complicated," she excused. She had probably taken it as a point of pride that there was someone who'd actually turn her down, Gary reasoned. That was why she wanted to play this ridiculous game with him. Put infamous Gary Smith in her pocket and think she was the Queen of Rogues. She was bold or stupid, and probably both. But, her brazen approach could be useful for something at least.

"Well," Gary announced, taking another drag on his cigarette. "It looks like you're not giving me a choice." Lola grinned with her victory, while he stepped off the wall and reached out.

He clasped an elbow and turned Lola around, until she lay between the wall and himself, then set a hand across one of her hips and squeezed a palmful of flesh and stretched leather. She rolled her head back and sighed, playing up the reaction shamelessly. He moved closer still, stepping a leg between hers, then brought his cigarette back up to his lips, took one last drag and blew the smoke in her face.

"I told you _no_," he hissed, and as he moved back he flipped his wrist and popped the last of the cigarette between her surprised lips, thumb drawing along her cheek as he withdrew. She wanted a drag and she got one, just at the moment she least expected it.

He left her there with his cigarette smoking in his mouth. Before she had the time or coherence to react he'd vaulted over the wall and was gone.

In fact, he reflected on his way out, Lola wasn't quite as stupid as she looked. Although she was an inefficient operator, she had one thing, and that was scores of guys willing to beat the crap out of one another for her. All of them championing the same cause: _jealousy_. All of them easily manipulated through their bruised feelings.

And Lola wasn't even the biggest slut in school. No, Bullworth's bike had Gary's bullseye in the centre of his forehead, and went by the motto 'if it stays still long enough'. Now Jimmy had moved onto that piece of Blue Skies trash, and that meant he had something in common with Lola – a string of jilted or dumped lovers along the way. He could use that.

However, he knew this wasn't an operation he could jump straight into. It was something he had to play for the long game. The first step was isolation, putting a barrier between Jimmy and everyone who supported him. That would be easy enough, because Bullworth loyalties were about as hard to break as Petey's self-esteem on a fat day. Cliques at Bullworth generally cared about themselves and themselves alone – and as individuals they didn't even care about their clique.

So Gary knew where to start, but right now, even cigarettes weren't doing anything for his fried nerves. He needed occupation, something to do that was destructive, satisfying and preferably completely pointless. So he went to the gym, pinched a baseball bat and then bought ten dollars' worth of Beam from the dorm vending machine, carrying them around the back to the window he knew was Petey's.

He shook up the first can until it was almost bursting, tossed it up and swung; the bat slammed into the metal which burst with a hiss and crack, then went pelting into Petey's window spewing foam. It bounced off the pane without breaking it, but he spotted a room a few spaces down that had foolishly be left open. He could spare a soda for a cause like that, so shook and batted another Beam right inside, exploding and spraying sugar and carbonated water everywhere. Oh yes, that _did_ feel good.

He slammed a few more cans into Petey's closed window, but couldn't break the glass, and soon lost interest when there was no one there to react to his assault. He left the cans and bat where they were, wasted some time on the arcade machine until class got out, then when the clock crawled past half three he trawled back outside to resume batting practice.

He could make out the top of Petey's door from outside, and slammed a few cans into the window to warm up his arm, then he waited until he saw the door open. He'd been shaking a Beam for a good few minutes in preparation, and lobbed it into the air ready to go. It practically combusted on the spot, showering himself about as much as Petey's window. However, the can – or what remained of it – tapped off the pane and managed to attract Petey's attention. He started to shake up the next as Pete approached the window, frowning; Gary mimed window-opening motions at him, and then huffed and shrugged when Petey didn't oblige. Propping the bat on his shoulder, he walked to over to the window next to Petey's and got up close, swinging his weapon back as if he were about to smash it.

Petey started to shout, and Gary paused to put a hand up to his ear – can of Beam still clutched in it – like he couldn't quite make the words out. Resigning himself with a shrug, he dropped the arm to his side and wound back the swing once more. The sound of the window sliding open was music to his ears.

"Gary I swear if you-" Petey got to before Gary turned on his heels, tossed the can up into the air and slammed the bat through it, sending tin-can and foam circling frantically towards Petey, the hiss and rip of cheap metal playing a pleasant harmony alongside Petey's yelp.

"For god's sake, Gary! Why'd you have to do something like that?" He was now doused in a light spray of beam, and Gary was laughing too much to give an answer. Perhaps he did it because he thought it was funny, or he wanted to annoy Petey, or he knew that Petey would let him get away with it... or maybe he _didn't _knowbecause sometimes he did stupid shit without thinking. There were still a few cans left, so he picked up another and started to shake it ominously.

"Oh no!" Petey yelled, lunging to close the window. He just got it shut before Gary batted it into the glass, but he flinched and that was almost as funny. Now there was only one can left, and Petey had offered up about as much entertainment as he was capable of generating, so Gary cracked the top of the last and started to drink – not that he needed any more of a boost to his system. If anything he could use a sedative, but the school was only good at dispensing medication that he _didn't_ need.

He dropped the bat outside the dorm on his way back inside, draining the last of the Beam and then scrunching it up and tossing it into the trash can – which wasn't filled by a nerd or unsuspecting victim for once.

It was only when he put a hand up to comb his hair that he realised it was sticky. He'd probably gotten more soda on himself than anything else, but he'd barely even noticed. When he focused on something – actually managed to funnel his attention down into a single thing – he didn't really care what bounced back onto him. Everything else faded into the background for a wonderful, relieving moment.

Like on the roof, where it'd been about beating Jimmy, and not the fact that he was standing on the edge of a building.

He touched his fingers to his cheek and found that sugary and tacky as well, and looking down, his shirt and jumper hadn't escaped either. There was absolutely no way around it; he was going to have to shower. He stopped in his room for a towel, left his jumper on the floor, and then headed for the bathroom.

Sounds of water clued him into someone's presence in the grimy shower room, which was the main reason most of the boys in Bullworth smelled like wet dogs. _Not_ showering was sometimes the more hygienic option. It turned out to be Petey, washing his face with a pout that Gary swore he must have had before he walked in. He said nothing, striding past him for the stalls.

"Thanks for that, Gary," Petey mumbled before he could make it to the showers, slightly too cowardly to say it to his face.

"Oh, I'm _sorry_, femme-boy," he snarled with a sudden flashflood of anger, whirling on the spot. "I was just having a little fun. Learn to take a fucking joke."

"How was that a joke?" Petey retorted, and the fact that he appeared to _want_ a fight only incensed Gary more; for once he'd been about to leave it, to just get in the shower and see if that would soothe his frayed nerves.

"Well I laughed," he spat, "and if you had any sense of humour you'd see the funny side too."

"What funny side?" Petey scolded. He was a lot pissier than Gary would've liked him to be at this moment in time, and that was infuriating.

"Hm... like the fact that you're going to have something wet and sticky sprayed in your face for many years to come?" he suggested cruelly.

"That's not funny," Pete glowered, and Gary had the idea of ramming his head into the mirror he stood in front of so hard it smashed the glass, laughing as blood ran down the once-perfect reflection. Not so perfect now; head boy _or_ the mirror.

"Well yunno what, Pete? I don't happen to care if you find it funny or not, because my existence in life isn't to make a pissy little bitch feel good about himself because he's too fucking sad to make his own fun."

When he saw Petey's face drop, Gary reckoned that smashing his head into the mirror might've actually been the nicer option. If he hadn't been in such a foul mood all of a sudden, he would've found it pleasing. As it was, nothing helped.

"Why'd you have to be such an ass?" Petey grumbled, facing him with the same kicked-puppy expression Gary had watched from the mirror.

"Why?" he exclaimed, and then took a step back. "You mean you have a problem with my attitude right now, femme-boy? Because this, _this_ is the great, medicated Gary Smith!" he proclaimed, spreading his arms out like a martyr, his voice charged like a wind-up radio. "Don't I live up to your fucking expectations?"

"But you... didn't actually-" Pete started weakly.

"Wrong," Gary interjected. "My meds, Petey, after your little bitchfest this morning I actually took them." The anger was almost too much to bear in his chest; why Petey was making him so angry, when usually he just made him laugh, was an unpleasant unknown.

"You're lying," Petey blurted, and then Gary had thrown down his towel, almost sprinted across the bathroom, and had Pete by the top of his collar..

"Don't you _dare_ call me a liar when I tell you the truth, Petey," his hissed, hands clenched so tightly his knuckles blanched. "Don't you fucking dare."

"Oh-okkay," Petey backed down, realising suddenly he was way out of his depth; like he'd glanced down in what he thought was shallow water and seen hungry blue running into lightless black. "I'm sorry, sorry, Gary," he pledged urgently – like he thought Gary would just bend over and rip his throat out with his bare teeth. He started to reel in his temper, letting go of Petey's shirt and unfurling his hands from where they'd set in tight coils.

"Don't let it happen again," he said with a low, murderous tone, and then walked away, snatching up his towel and disappearing into the shower.

The shower drowned out all the noises that he couldn't stop listening to, from the sound of Pete leaving to the niggling voices at the back of his head; the ones that ran segments of his conversations with people, what he could've said, _should've_ said. The tiny internal narrator-commentator that never went off shift.

He had to scrub long and hard with Bullworth's cheap detergent to get the Beam out of hair and skin, but the deliberately scalding water helped to clear his head. He hadn't meant to be so angry, to lose his temper so viciously at Pete, but he'd been too wired from the medication to control it. Something in him had screamed that the little welp _should_ be afraid of him. That fear was the right reaction. Now Petey would watch where he laid his girly ballet-slipper footprints, tiptoeing gently through the minefield lest he blow off another limb.

Once he'd burned some of the rage out of him, Gary returned to his room, wet, with clothes bundled in one hand and a towel clutched around his waist.

"Temper, temper," a self scolded him as he padded into the room on damp feet, shutting his door behind him and digging in a wedge of wood he was using as a makeshift lock. They didn't put real locks on the dorm doors, but if you had an ounce of creativity you could make it hard for anyone to get in unless you wanted them to. He perched on the edge of the bed, towel draped around him, and ruffled his fingers through wet hair, feeling the trickles down his neck catch alight with the cold.

"You're meant to be pulling together," it spoke again. "Not falling apart."

"I'm not falling apart," he answered defensively. This was a temporary lapse, not a first step back down the slippery slope.

"What are you going to do about it, then?" the reflection posed.

"Nothing," he grumbled. "Petey asked for it." And this was one of the few times he _had_, where Gary had been intending to leave him alone, ignore his pathetic existence, and Petey had gone and prodded him because he was unable to resist a cheap slight. All because Gary had spilled a bit of Beam on him.

If he wanted to play with fire, he was going to get his fingers burned.


	6. The Ball Rolls

_Predator - part five_

* * *

Gary was growing to like his room.

Sure, it was small, dirty, the floor squeaked and it was in _Bullworth_ and therefore subject to all the usual fire-alarm drills and stink-bombing, but it was his space. _His _space that no one came into without his authority on it.

At least, that was the theory behind it. Because he'd been keeping to his own, enjoying a late-evening smoke, when there was a brash knock at the door. Like a fist beat on it than a polite tap of knuckles. He ignored it, perched right up on his window ledge in a t-shirt and sweatpants, knees curled up and cigarette between his fingers, but it grew into a persistent thump. Eventually the handle turned and the door slipped a fraction, stopping on the wedge he'd jammed underneath.

"Real clever," a caustic voice that drove sparks of fury and electricity up Gary's spine, snapping between vertebrae all the way up to his neck. "Open the door, Gary."

"If I wanted visitors I'd put up a sign, Jimmy," he called across from the window. "I think you got lost on the way to Petey's room."

"Petey doesn't know I'm here," Jimmy retorted, and Gary couldn't deny mild curiosity. However, he was curious about what being hit by a car would feel like, and it didn't mean he went out throwing himself under the wheels of whatever sped past the school.

He chose not to answer, because there was nothing he needed to say; he was in the position of power here – Jimmy was the one bashing on his door. He had thinking to do. Though sometimes his path lit up before him like divine inspiration, most of the time he had to plan and scheme and assemble everything brick by brick. He couldn't do that with Jimmy poking his fat fingers through his grill.

"You got two options, Gary," Jimmy started up ominously. "You can open this door, or I can break it."

Gary called his bluff, but then the door almost buckled under the force of what he assumed was Jimmy's boot, and he relented to the fact that he might not be able to stick this one out with pure obstinacy.

"All right, all right," he called out, taking a last pull on his half-finished cigarette and stubbing it on the outside of the wall before dragging the wedge out from his door with a foot. He opened it to the face of an extremely disgruntled Jimmy Hopkins. "Yes?" he shot distastefully, peering through the gap.

Jimmy thudded a shoulder against the half-opened door and it almost knocked Gary off his feet. Jimmy hadn't always been that strong, certainly not when they'd last fought. He must have worked out over the summer, lacking anything else productive to do; like being put on drug trials or sitting in therapists' offices making up childhood memories.

"What do you want?" he hissed the moment Jimmy set foot across the doorway. Invading his space.

"I wanna know what the hell you think you're playing at," Jimmy growled, holding himself like a hunter, stalking further into the room. But that wasn't right, _Gary_ was the predator, he wasn't the one that got cornered. Except by Jimmy: Jimmy, who could hunt him like he was one up on the food chain, even if he was several spaces below on the evolutionary one. Crocodiles were some of the oldest creatures on the planet, and they still ate their advanced human counterparts.

"Meaning what, exactly?" Gary posed. If Jimmy smelled smoke on him, he didn't mention it. Not like he'd care anyway, and Gary found he was pleased. He wasn't doing it to get some stupid reaction out of people, he wanted them to ignore him when he had a cigarette in his hand; it was the only thing that calmed him enough to deal with people most of the time.

"Petey's barely been back a day and you're still pushing him around like you got a right to," Jimmy started, "but if you're _gonna _hang around with him, you could at least be less of an asshole about it." The dots aligned in front of Gary's eye like sights on a gun.

"Oh, no, don't tell me," he moaned through a thin, twisted smile. Barbed wire stretched across his face. "This is _too_ much." He raised up his hands in disbelief, as if to lift them from involvement in the situation. "You're here to defend him? Don't tell me, you caught him crying in the-"

"He doesn't need to be crying for me to know you've been a cunt to him, Gary," Jimmy snapped. "I'm here to tell you to back off or learn to play nice." Gary had expected a number of things, but this wasn't quite any of them. This was new; Jimmy never used to go out of his way to look out for Petey, and Gary didn't like it. A challenge to his power, yes, back out of 'Jimmy's territory with Pete, of course, but _learn how to be nice_. That was almost like he cared if Pete got hurt by Gary.

"Pete can fight his own battles," he retorted. "Isn't he meant to be the big, important head of the school now? Bit sad that he has to rely on you to-"

"I told you, he doesn't know I'm here," Jimmy interjected, folding his arms across his chest and looking dead at Gary. He couldn't hold the gaze long enough and had to turn away. "I know you've been hassling him."

"I'm just being friendly," Gary protested. If Petey wasn't such a wet girls' blouse he'd be able to take the sharp side of Gary's tongue without needing to call in the cavalry; he practically brought it on himself.

"I'm not here to negotiate," Jimmy bit off his argument like the end of a candy bar. "I'm here to _tell_ you." Gary let out a derisive laugh, but the bitterness of Jimmy's attempt to command was not lost on him.

"You're here to give meorders?" he seethed. "You're getting too used to your position Jimmy. You ought to be careful, rise and fall of kings, you know."

"There's only one thing that'd shake up my place at school now," Jimmy replied brutishly. They were stood in his room like acquaintances loitering around a park for a chat; Jimmy dour with his arms crossed, not far from the half-opened door, and Gary flighty and bouncing on the balls of his feet a few paces away. "I'm looking at him."

"Ohhh, Jimmy," he murmured in his cough-syrup voice, sweet and full of drugs – to dose down, to make the recipient docile. "You flatter me."

"I'm just being realistic," he responded. "You might have Petey fooled, but I know you're still all of the bastard you were before."

"Don't think too hard, friend, you might pass out," he taunted. In fact, Jimmy was probably the only person who stayed consistent in this way. Even if it was aggressively, how he treated Gary never changed. Everyone else, Petey included, believed his self-proclaimed summer of torment had _done_ something. That he would be different, as if medication and treatment made him into something else. Something _better_.

Jimmy understood that it didn't, that Gary was always going to be the same regardless of what he was taking. He accepted Gary for what he wasin the crudest possible way. In Jimmy's eyes he was a bastard, not a victim, not a damaged individual that just needed the right amount of adjustment to _count_.

Of course, he still loathed Jimmy, but it was sometimes a relief to know he was being treated as another person, not an inhuman creature of 'issues'. Like he was missing a leg rather than a touch of brain chemistry.

"I'm not your goddam friend," Jimmy muttered, and it was worth calling him it just to see the face he pulled.

"Always helps to have friends, Jimmy," he tutted. "You need them in a place like this."

"Like you're the expert on making friends," he scoffed. "Only person who gives you the time of day you treat like shit for no good reason."

"Oh, I have _plenty _of reasons," he hissed. What did Jimmy understand of it? If he let up on Petey, showed him even an inch – if Petey stopped thinking he was anything other than an unmitigated bastard – he'd start to _pity _him instead; poor, sad Gary with social problems, who didn't know how to keep his friends. If he wasn't unbreakable and dangerous, he'd be weak, and he knew which of the pick he'd rather have. Not to mention he _enjoyed_ pushing boundaries and seeing how far they could bounce back.

Petey needed to learn to deal with people like him anyway, the world was full of them. He was just the first in a series. Provided, that was, that everyone left him alone and stopped trying to force a cookie-cutter down over him – maiming his arms and legs, cutting him into an incomplete mess just so he stayed within the lines of the perfect gingerbread man.

"I don't wanna chew the fat with you," Jimmy said crossly. "I'm just letting you know that _whatever _you did to him, if you do it again I'm gonna give you something to think about."

"Oh, I'm curious now," Gary remarked satisfactorily. "I didn't know I'd managed to _get_ him so well." He hadn't even been trying, he'd just been strung out and Petey had pushed the wrong button at the wrong time.

"Fuck you," Jimmy growled, stepping closer. They were almost an arm's reach apart now. "If you want a fight, you know exactly where I am."

"Why would I want to pick on _you_?" he pointed out, his voice practically putrescent, like he wanted to rot Jimmy away with words. "You're too stupid to react in entertaining ways." Not to mention he couldn't _beat_ Jimmy in a square fight.

"You wanna try me?" he threatened, fists drawn, and Gary smirked.

"Feel like hitting me, James? Go on then," he remarked. "Put a nice black eye on me, and I'll tell Petey you did it. How'd you think he's gonna take that?" Jimmy might be stupid, but he wasn't _that _stupid. He knew that if Gary showed up with a bloodied face and Jimmy's fist-print in his cheek, all it'd do is send Petey even further over to his side. So he expected Jimmy to back down, knowing what was good for him, and leave Petey to his own pathetic existence. Except that Jimmy thrust out an arm like it worked on pneumatics and closed his fist right in the center of Gary's t-shirt, bunching up tight and then jerking him forward, almost off-balance.

"You make it realtempting, Gary," he said with a breath that rolled low and hard, like the murmur of a beast, "so I'd be careful about what you say I can or can't do to you." For a moment Gary's flight instinct kicked in, the bolt of reality that told him to get the hell out of a dangerous situation as fast as he could, but it faded as the flames rose up. The angry, powerful self who told him that if Jimmy was going to get up in his face, he was going to damn well shove him back. He whipped an arm over Jimmy's and clenched a hand in his sweater, right in front of the shoulder, his forearm almost horizontal across Jimmy's collarbone and pulled; Jimmy's weight shifted to counterbalance, drawing them even closer together.

"Don't you push me, Jimmy," he breathed. "Not me. You know what happens."

"I know what happens," he answered, not releasing the grip, refusing to be the one who buckled first. "You end up on the floor underneath me." Gary twisted a corner of his mouth into a crooked grin.

"That an invitation?" he taunted. Maybe Jimmy hadn't meant it to sound like that, maybe he was just too used to making crude jokes about everything. He couldn't scare Jimmy off with force, but he could push him away with something else. Get right up in his senses, let him drown in their proximity and be the one to back off first. Revulsion leading to repulsion. Gary couldn't beat him in strength, he knew that, but it didn't mean that was the _only_ way he could be intimidating.

Jimmy didn't drop straight away, he was a little too tough for that, but a few seconds were more than enough to crack him, and he shoved Gary back.

"As if," he spat, rubbing his palm against his side like he needed to wipe Gary off it.

"Are you done being the big man now?" he jeered, going back to his window and pulling his cigarettes out from behind the curtain. He tapped another into his hand and set it between his lips, taking up his usual spot on the sill and lighting up. A long and heavy breath – he needed it after that.

"Whatever," Jimmy grumbled, probably sensing the futility of his task. Telling Gary not to be cruel to Pete was like telling the clouds not to rain. Perhaps they'd hold for a while, perhaps the sun would shine, but a storm was always on the horizon. "Just remember that I warned you."

"Consider me warned," he bounced back, keeping down his temper with the nicotine fix. It'd be a few more hours until he got all the ADD drugs out of his system, but he was slowly coming down from the extreme, unpleasant high of the day.

If it were another time, if he were in another state, that exchange with Jimmy might have gone down very differently; it could have ended anywhere and Gary knew it. He had to watch his step, he couldn't keep on like this or something was going to blow up by mistake. He'd ruin everything before he'd even started.

"What would you have done if he hadn't backed down?" a reflection of himself asked; sitting opposite to him on the window ledge, a perfect visual copy, right down to the cigarette between his fingers.

"He did," Gary explained to his interrogator; the self who questioned everything and didn't get listened to as often as he should.

"But what if he _hadn't_," he insisted.

"He was bound to," Gary replied.

"He could've called your bluff," the interrogator proposed.

"And he'd have lost," he answered dryly, still smoking in harmony with the image as he narrated their discourse.

"Maybe," the self pointed out, forcing him to confront the risks of his gamble, forcing him to answer the questions that he wouldn't ask otherwise. Sometimes it was his only mechanism, the only thing that stopped him from taking chances he wasn't prepared to lose; the voice that had been absent when he'd decided to turn the school into chaos, duct-taped in the corner of his consciousness while the others ran rampant.

"It isn't important now," Gary declared, "it's over." He was wired and tired at the same time, shut in with his own smothering company, trying desperately to capture some peace, and he saw the self looking right at him, dead into his eyes.

"No," it murmured, and from the feet up, it started to fade from imagination, until it was just a translucent outline with a cigarette trapped between smirking lips. "It's only just beginning."

He finished his cigarette and threw it down into the cold alleyway, slamming the window shut. If he was going to get ahead in this school, there was something he had to fix – for good. Too many upsets and he'd risk the whole plan.

Gary walked to the middle of his room and sat cross-legged on the floor, back up against the end of the bed. He closed his eyes. Knee-to-knee with him were two more versions of himself. Two reflections out of the prism. Yes and no. They sat opposite one another, almost vaporous. At the head, opposite Gary himself, was an invisible fourth to their party.

"The longer you take them the harder it'll be to stop," the no chipped in immediately. It wasn't too angry this time, but indignant, sure of himself. "You want to stop, so stop. It's as simple as that."

"There's plenty of time," the yes countered with calm, evaluative judgment. "No sense blowing it now."

"You're not going to blow it just because you're off meds," the no retorted.

"I did last time," Gary contributed, feeling the sink in the pit of his stomach with the admission. He couldn't lie to himself, not in council.

"So what, go back on medication any time you have something important to do?" the no shot, agitated and angry with the direction of the conversation.

"_No_," the counter-argument denied. "Just this once. You have to keep a low profile until the time is right. Being off meds is anything but low-profile."

"Who noticed?" the no countered fiercely. "Last time it was fine."

"Petey noticed," Gary answered.

"He's more important now," the yes concurred. "People might actually listen to him this time."

"So let him _think_ you're taking them," the no declared. "Problem solved."

"That won't convince him," Gary pointed out, and slowly, the fourth began to appear. From first ghostly form, the image became more defined, translucent legs folded together in grey sweatpants, elbows rested on knees, t-shirt hanging too-big from his frame the same way it did on Gary.

"So _balance_," it spoke at last, taking shape. "Take just enough for now."

"How much is just enough?" the no interrogated. "Drugs are still drugs."

"Maybe, but how many times can you afford a repeat of today?" the compromise asked. It spoke sense, it spoke calmly, listening to both halves of the argument and trying to forge something from them both. This was the only way Gary knew how to fix something like this; finding a solution that he wasn't going to back out on the moment his mood flipped.

"You're right," he admitted begrudgingly. He hadn't even meant to do anything to Petey and ended up hurting him more than all the times he'd actually tried. "So what? Take less?"

"It won't work like that," the yes forwarded. "It has to be the right dose." Today had proven _that_; too much and he lost it even worse than usual, but taking less than what he was prescribed didn't do enough. Sumer had proven _that_.

"In time, maybe you can take less," the compromise suggested. "Once you get used to taking it less often." He was meant to dose twice a day, morning and afternoon. Alternative timetables had failed to stay effective. He'd entertained himself at the expense of people adjusting his medications over that one..

"Take it in the morning," the yes suggested, but the no scowled.

"No," Gary rejected. He wouldn't grab the crutch the moment he rolled out of bed. Only when the pain was too great to bear. "In the afternoon."

"That's fair," the compromise assured him. "Last the morning without them, then top up at lunch."

"Okay," he replied calmly. "Once a day. At lunch." He waited with baited breath for the other parties to protest – without their cooperation, without unanimity, nothing would work. But they were silent.

He'd have half the day for not taking meds, for beating it with his mind alone, and then release the pressure. That way he could get better at managing without drugs every day, but it wouldn't be a constant struggle of on-off, of not knowing which way his mood would flip next.

So they, _he_, agreed, and the deal was set. The next day when he woke up, the room was empty – no spectre of medication by his bedside, nor a grim reaper in a nurses' robe. He put a dose into his cigarette box with his morning smoke, so he didn't have to carry around a bottle like a cancer patient, and struggled through the first class of the day with restless blood.

And he _did_ struggle, but he made it knowing that it was only going to be half the day – that if he could beat this now, it was one step closer to going completely clean. Petey saw him taking his pills at lunch, and if he could've got a little gold star out of his blazer and stuck it on his shirt to say '_well done Gary'_ he probably would've.

Of course, _that _also meant that Jimmy thought his tough-man act had actually yielded results, as if he'd come to Petey's rescue like a big brave knight on a white horse. The only salvation was that he couldn't tellPetey about it, so the precious maiden at least maintained an impression that Gary had just turned over good behaviour of his own volition.

As he'd predicted, by the time the afternoon class had kicked off he felt controlled again. Except he did so without guilt because he'd already lasted half the day without anything in his system but niccotine; the balance was self-righting, each was a justification for the other. After a second day of the same, he was convinced that the arrangement would hold. That one morning he wasn't going to wake up and change his mind.

And once the see-saw had been steadied – now that he wasn't blowing his top at Petey or letting himself be distracted by Jimmy – he could actually start to enact his plans.

The first step was one of the easiest. All it required was a time when he knew Earnest was having a meeting with Pete. They had important Class President and Head Girl business, clearly, but at least having Petey in his pocket gave him warning for things like this.

With time to spare he headed over to the nerds' hangout, loitering on the steps draining the last of his after-class smoke. Petey still gave him doleful looks, but didn't dare say anything about the habit. Gary didn't know if he'd have been able to stick it out this far without cigarettes; they were a small, _only_, pleasure. The incentive and reward for adhering to the rules.

He crushed the cigarette butt on the steps and walked inside, the door shutting behind him with a soft click. Either the nerds had an early-warning system or their hearing was that good, because they knew he was there before he got through the archway.

"Good afternoon, nerdlings," he called like a ringmaster as he strolled into the atrium, meeting the array of eyes scared like deer. They knew they were in the presence of someone far more dangerous than they.

"It's _him_," Algie murmured.

"Him? He who must not be named_?_" Gary taunted. "You nerds would probably like that, wouldn't you?"

"Why don't you just leave us alone?" Fatty said just a little too aggressively for Gary's liking.

"Why don't you can the attitude, lardass?" he retorted. "Just because the jocks and bullies laid off you for a while, you all think you're invincible."

"Hey!" Cornelius protested. "That isn't- I mean... we're not-"

"You act like it's a new year, but what's actually changed?" he challenged. "You still hide here like a bunch of rats, no one _likes_ you, and you've all got more of a chance at getting laid wandering around Bullworth Town with your own rohypnol and no pants."

"You don't scare us, Gary!" Algie shot suddenly, bouncing up from the bench where he sat amongst his meerkat-family, hiding in burrows, always on guard. "We know-" he cut off as soon as Gary fixed him in the eyes, glaring with full and furious hatred.

"You're not scared of me, pee-stain?" he said quietly, strolling towards Algie like he might just flip and have one of those 'episodes' he so-hoped Christy was telling people about. "Because you should be."

"I... I..." he stuttered, looking like he might start leaking. In the game of who could bark louder, Gary _always _won.

"We aren't afraid of you!" Melvin contributed suddenly. "Our liege will smite you if-"

"Your _liege_?" Gary scorned. "Please don't tell me you mean Jimmy Hopkins." The show of gormless faces seemed to confirm the accusation. "As if he cares about any of _you_," he dismissed. "How often do you see him in here?"

"Th-that's not the point," Algie interjected. "If you're mean to us, Earnest will get Jimmy to-"

"Earnest? _Earnest? _You think that rapist-in-waiting has any influence? You think if he asked Jimmy to do something, he'd pay the slightest bit of attention? Your great and benevolent ruler only wants to keep _himself_ in Jimmy's good graces to protect his own ass and keeps a steady stream of used erotica going. He wouldn't lift a finger to help any of you if you got down on your scabby, knobbly knees and _begged _him."

"Stop it!" Algie retorted. "You're lying!"

"Oh, am I?" he chuckled. "Go on then, tell Earnest I was _mean _to you big bunch of girls, and see what happens."

"Maybe we will!" Melvin barked, and Gary smirked. There was a minor risk that maybe Earnest would grow the testicles to voice a complaint to Jimmy if the nerds told him to, but the chances weren'thigh. Jimmy was too blunt and Earnest too toadying for it to be very likely, especially considering he hadn't really _done _anything to them. It'd be seen as a trifle, which is exactly what he wanted.

"Be my guest," he spat at them in the way of a farewell. "Oh,and turns out I forgot to return this last year, my mistake," he added spitefully, flinging an old book he'd pulled out of the trash across the vacant librarian's desk. He did it for the insult more than anything else, and the nerds gave appropriate yelps of disgust as he turned and walked back outside.

Grinning into the sunlight, he felt truly calm for the first time in a long while. At last the ball was set in motion.


	7. Wounding Pride

Unfortunately for Gary Smith, not every clique was as easy to crack as the nerds, who were already so insecure it was hardly sport rattling their cage door until they were convinced a tiger was outside it. He couldn't walk past them these days without flinching glares or whispers at his heels like stray cats. Their appeal to their great egotist of a leader had clearly failed.

Now the next logical step was the preps, who were a little harder to tackle because of their arrogance and sense of self-entitlement, but that didn't mean they were invulnerable. In fact it was those very qualities that were going to rip them apart.

However, he couldn't just charge in and send them all scattering from the center. Like a savanah hunt he needed to wait for the stragglers and pick them away from the pack. He had plenty of choice in a viciously hierarchal system like theirs, but he had a particular piece of venison in mind for starters.

To catch his prey he needed to spend more time than he'd have liked loitering around the Aquaberry store in Old Bullworth Vale. Gord Vendome was his target, because rumour had it Gord had made the fatal error of letting Jimmy get in his pants – or close to them, at least. Even if it wasn't true – and Gary would find out if it was – it meant he had a point of attack. A person to infect with doubt; of Jimmy, and of the sincerity of anything he'd ever promised. Gary needed anyone who'd ever cared for or trusted Jimmy to abandon him, and a highly strung prep wasn't a bad place to start.

The hardest thing to do was find him some time he wasn't surrounded by his cohorts and invulnerable to any lure Gary might throw out. He needed to get him alone. However, his chance eventually rolled around. He was sitting on a bench watching the world go by, until Gord emerged from the boutique a few bags heavier. Gary got up, pulled a cigarette from his newpack, and walked so that his path crossed Gord's not far from the shop.

"Got a light?" he asked as he set the filter between his lips, looking at Gord as if he just happened to be there.

"What? Eugh," he huffed on recognition of Gary. "It's _you_, Smith. No, I don't," he dismissed, walking on.

"Are you sure?" he pressed, stepping across Gord's path once more.

"I don't smoke," he dismissed.

"Really," Gary murmured inoffensively. "See, I heard you liked putting long things in your mouth and sucking."

"What?" he shot, registering that jab quickly enough. "Now what is _that_ supposed to mean?"

"Nothing, it's just not what I heard," he offered with a shrug. "Sorry I asked." He tucked the cigarette behind his ear and strolled off, veering down an alleyway and away from the common eye. There was a chance Gord wouldn't follow – there was _always _a chance it wouldn't go the way he was planning – but if anything, his experiences at Bullworth had proven that Gary's predictions of people were rarely wrong.

"Hold up just a minute!" Gord barked, storming after him. "You can't just throw accusations around and walk away, you _has-been!_ I'll give you something to-" Gary made sure they were far enough away from anyone not to be noticed, then stopped sharply and turned on Gord.

"_I've _been saying nothing," he retorted, squaring off shoulder-to-shoulder, invading the aura of clean, perfumed air that hung around him. "It's just what I've been told."

"Told? _Told? _By whom? Exactly what are you even implying!" Gord snapped. "You've forgotten your place if you think that you can stroll into the Vale and start slinging mud, Smith. I've a good mind to-" he cut off out of sheer necessity when Gary raised and arm and pressed it down hard across his throat, the bone of his forearm almost choking.

"You've made a mistake, friend," he murmured, pressing Gord back to the wall. "This might be your turf, but in case you hadn't noticed, you're all on your own." He'd waited a long time – in his book – to get this shot at digging his way under Gord's skin, and he wasn't going to waste it.

"Get off me!" Gord snapped, then his chest inflated as if he were planning to yell, but Gary put a stop to that by covering his mouth and pressing harder on his neck. The penny dropped very suddenly and Gord's eyes widened with panic, finally realising he'd let himself be drawn away from the streets and trapped. His bags dropped to the floor, breath hitching in a throat that pulsed underneath Gary's arm.

"If you'd answered my questions before there wouldn't be a need for this," Gary remarked. "All I was curious about, Gordy, was whether what I heardabout you was true." He ducked his face closer as he slurred the words into his ear like poison. Gord shook his head under Gary's hands, unable to voice protest, while his captor grinned.

"See, for some reason, I don't believe you," he accused, edging closer until he wasn't much more than a couple of inches off him. "I was led to believe that you were an easy lay." It was marvelous to feel Gord tensing under his hands, unable to move unless he fancied being choked. The dash fear in his eyes was a final touch. "To me it makes sense," he commented, "as can't see why elseJimmy would go for you." The fear turned to anger. Just for fun, he lifted his hand from Gord's mouth.

"I've never heard such outrageous slander in my life!" he spat. "Hopkins never got so luck... I never liked- I-" It was fun to watch him flounder, but half a minute of babbling was more than enough, and Gary closed his palm tight over his mouth again.

"Just because your family has wealth and status doesn't stop you being trash. An easy piece of high-class trash for people like Jimmy and Lola to pick their teeth on." Gary knew all about Gord's history of slumming it, he did his research. "Why is it you'll go with anyone who'll take you?" he inquired politely. "Attention, some sense of taboo or-"

"I've never heard such libel in my life!" he hissed with a slightly frantic quality. Though he struggled and scowled, Gord didn't seem ready to fight Gary off with his fists just yet. Perhaps he was afraid of messing up his delicately manicured hands.

"Face it," Gary posed. "You're worse than Jimmy or Lola, because you don't even play them. You just get played like the dumb piece of ass you are."

"That is not true-"

"Do you want to my theory?" Gary taunted, refusing to let him argue his own corner. "I think you take anyone who offers because you're paranoid no one cares about you. Which is more or less right."

"That's _not-!" _Gord spat like a cat in an alley fight.

"Isn't it?" he interrupted. "Do you see anyone here to help you now? Any of your friends or your so-called lovers? Jimmy played you just like Lola played you, and all I'mdoing is telling you the truth. So why does that make _me_ the bad guy?"

"You're the one with your arm across my throat," Gord struggled to say, and with a rewarding smile, Gary released him.

"All better," he proclaimed. For a second Gord looked like he was going to bolt or punch Gary, but he stayed where he was. "I'm still right," he added with an ominous grin. "Do you know how I know?" Mistakenly, Gord acknowledged the question and shook his head.

With quick, determined motion Gary reached forward and grabbed both of Gord's wrists, holding them against the wall and separating from himself for a disgusted moment as he put his body up against Gord's and leant over his ear. This was exactly the sort of twisted, dirty thrill that the blueblood lived for and he didn't disappoint. No yells to get off him or stop, no violent thrashing to push Gary away, which he easily could have done. He just let it happen, twitching as Gary picked his mouth up and touched it to his ear, slightly lower than before.

"Because you're incapable of saying no," he murmured in Gord's ear. "You love it. And this is all you're worth to them," he closed, punctuating with a final surge of pressure of his body against Gord's front, a lewd suggestion without having to degrade himself too far. Thinking he'd endured more than enough unpleasantness, he let go and stepped back, looking for the tell-tale signs on Gord's face. Gary pulled his cigarette back out from behind his ear, withdrew a lighter and brought the flame to its end.

"Talk to Jimmy," he challenged through a breathful of smoke. "See if I'm wrong." Then he turned and left, abandoning Gord to his spiraling insecurities and confusion.

However, that sad string of conflictions wasn't going to be enough to shake up the preps alone – Gary knew that much. He couldn't upset one little lackey and think it'd be good enough. He had to complete the set. Not Derby himself, who never liked Jimmy anyway, but his best man and inbred betrothed were a perfect fit.

The resident clique princess wasn't hard to work over; rather than having to deal with Pinky in person, he just told Christy and that she 'must be pretty bitter about Jimmy dumping her for a dirty commoner like Zoe' and the was deal done. The chance to provoke a conflict between any of the girls in school, and better yet those who were associated with Jimmy, was an opportunity Christy simply couldn't pass up

He congratulated him on a card well cashed as he watched her sidle up next to Pinky in the cafeteria and start to chatter. He felt like a director watching his creation come alive in front of him, but unlike the stage this was real. By the time Jimmy strolled in in his usual fashion, Zoe never far away, Pinky had a look that could've smashed china.

He had other things to do, but Gary couldn't resist tailing Jimmy for the rest of the day, waiting for the moment Pinky cornered him outside the girls' dorm chock full of demands about why he was fawning over that 'hideously-dressed, poorly-groomed trailer trash' and ignoring _her_.

Jimmy's answer, of course, was that he didn't know and hadn't thought about it – he was even more careless than Lola, moving his fancy onto the next party without so much as a bye or thanks to the one he'd left behind. Gary enjoyed watching his handiwork acted out, slowly chipping away at Jimmy's pedestal until it came crumbling down.

But Pinky and Gord were easy pickings. He had bigger, meatier fish to fry. Bif would be slightly more tasking to get to than Jimmy's tepid leftovers, and required Gary to devote an evening to the work. He invited himself into the Glassjaw gym at a time when the only one still training was their star slab of meat, who was punching a bag as he sauntered in and sat himself down on a bench.

"If you know what's good for you, you'll get back up and retrace those footsteps, Smith," Bif noted after a cursory glance over his shoulder.

"I mean no harm," he replied, knowing that he was way into the danger zone. Bif could repaint the wall in shades of his blood if he wanted, and he probably wasn't ignorant to Gary's stirring up trouble around his clique. He was a little too smart to be totally duped, but luckily Gary wasn't trying to fool him. Bif had a vice, and that was all Gary needed. "I just wanted to see the guy who lost to Jimmy Hopkins in action."

Bif bristled at the insult, looking like he was considering stringing Gary up instead of the bag for practice, but he just turned his shoulder and went back to training.

"You've every right to be bitter about it," Gary remarked casually. "I mean, you _ought_ to have won." That pacified him a little, but Bif kept pounding into the bag as if Gary might vanish if he was ignored enough.

"Everyone knows I _ought _to have beaten him," Bif commented aloofly, "but I didn't."

"You have to wonder _why_," Gary suggested slyly. "I mean, you're bigger, stronger and better trained. How could _he _have bested you?"

"He... well," Bif grunted crossly, not appreciating the needling. "He outlasted me," he admitted in the end. "He took stupid risks and landed a few lucky shots."

"Sounds like an inferior class of fighter," Gary commented.

"It was," Bif confirmed; chances where no one liked to talk about his big loss to Jimmy, so there was a whole fermenting cask of jealousy and bitterness that just needed tapping. "He hit the floor three times, but he _kept getting back up_," he began to leak, "I've never seen anything like it!"

"You mean, no normal person would have taken a beating like that?" Gary inquired innocently.

"Never, never in all my days of boxing," Bif insisted. "He fought like some kind of... _madman_." Gary couldn't help grinning – the phrase had just been dropped right in his lap – but he quickly downed it again before Bif noticed him looking ecstatic when they were meant to be having a gripe.

"Well, anyone who fights in such a dangerous way can't have _all_ his screws tightened up there," he said with a playful twirling motion at his head.

"You're no wrong," Bif conceded, then his eyes narrowed as he realised he who he was agreeing with. "What's this about, Smith?"

"Nothing," Gary assured him. "I can't lift a finger around here these days without Jimmy leaping on my back." That much was actually true. "It's a little obsessive if you ask me, but then, who listens to _me _any more?" he joked, raising up his hands and shrugging. "I was just reflecting, Bif, I have to do something to occupy myself these days. Never hurts to reflect on the past and see where you went wrong."

Judging by Bif's mix of expressions, he was hitting the right nerves, but he couldn't overdo it. If he came on too strong he'd make too many ripples. Ripples would send little rubber ducks like Pete running off to mother goose.

"I suppose I should be going now," he announced coldly.

"Yes," Bif agreed stiffly. "I suppose you should." The prep clearly wasn't comfortable with what had happened – the bewitching effect the right subject of conversation could provoke, but Gary didn't need him to be happy about anything. He only needed to plant the seeds of doubt.

He strolled back to the dorm in the dark, running over his plans so far. The nerds were shaken up as much as any bunch of paranoids and betrayers needed to be, and the preps weren't far off – the right push would set them off, given time. However, that still made his work not even half-done; the bullies weren't much threat, but more serious were the Townies, Jocks and Greasers. He had ideas, some of which would even work, but he was searching for alternatives all the time. Options gave him power.

It was during consideration of these options one evening that he had an unwanted visitor. He'd been thinking on an unpopular idea that had been pestering him concerning the Greasers, so the interruption was somewhat welcome.

"What?" he called out at the knock, knowing that there were very few people who would come to his room and fewer who would actually look for permission to enter.

"Uh, hey, Gary," Petey announced, pushing the door open and lingering half-way through it. "Are you busy?"

"For you, always," he answered, but didn't add more; Petey took it as a sign that he was only mildly unwanted rather than violently unwanted, and invited himself in.

"What'cha up to?" he inquired awkwardly. He was without his stupid head boy blazer for once, loitering around the middle of the room in his no-longer pink shirts. Apparently it wasn't a becoming colour for a Head Boy, though he was still occasionally seen with the old blush on.

"Oh, nothing, just staring at the ceiling and wondering how my life could get any worse. Then you came in," he said perkily, "so that cleared it up pretty neatly." Petey only sighed with a long and weary exasperation. "Oh come on, femme-boy," he cajoled. "It's no good if you don't respond."

"Whaddya want me to do? Call you a jerk and get pissed off?" Petey offered tersely.

"Well I was hoping that you'd get all upset and cry a little, then Jimmy would come charging in all hyped up and beat the snot out of me. I think he puts you on the back of a horse and you ride into the sunset after that."

"Don't be stupid, Jimmy'd never do something like that," Petey replied surely, and Gary raised his eyebrows, still staring up at the ceiling. Jimmy apparently hadn't told Petey about that incident yet, which was interesting. It suggested Jimmy wanted to protect Petey, but not openly. Which meant he was either embarrassed or he cared about Petey a little more than he wanted people to know.

"If you say so," he replied neutrally, choosing not to reveal anything just yet.

"So... what've you been up to lately?" Pete inquired as the conversation dwindled.

"Oh, well if _that _isn't a loaded question," Gary answered frostily. "Suspicious of me, femme-boy?"

"No, I mean... no, I was just-" Petey spluttered, and Gary wasn't quite sure if it was Petey's usual awkwardness or if he'd been caught in the act. "I just haven't seen you around very much," he mumbled woodenly.

"So you decided to drop in and check up on me?" he suggested with a tone that had only a veneer of friendship, layered underneath with barbarity. "How considerate."

"It's not like that... I... well, some of the preps seem kinda... _mad_ at Jimmy, and I was wondering if you knew anything about it," he alluded. Gord and Pinky had recently become the very best of friends and were outwardly snubbing Jimmy every chance they got.

"Has Jimmy actually said anything to you?" Gary challenged; ice-cold, too cold for Petey to detect any of his pride and pleasure at hearing about his handiwork playing out so well.

"No, Jimmy wouldn't... he just thinks they're sore about Zoe," Petey murmured. "I just _wondered-"_

"When something goes wrong in the life of Perfect Jimmy Hopkins you immediately assume I'm responsible? I must thank you for that vote of trust, friend," Gary interjected. "It's good to know that you'll jump to blame me for every small misfortune Jimmy brings on himself. It's not like he could ever create his _own _problems, given that he's such a balanced and thoughtful individual."

"That's not the... whatever," Petey huffed. "I shouldn't have said anything."

"Right, for once," Gary derided. He wondered what Petey was even expecting – an admission of guilt and an apology? "God, you're sad," he muttered critically. "This is really the best thing you can think of to do with your time?"

"Leave off, Gary," he said defensively. "I was... okay, I don't know what I was doing. I thought maybe you weren't gonna be such an ass seeing as you're-"

"As I'm what?" he cut in. "All medicated like a good little trooper? Is that what you thought, Petey? That now I take my pills like clockwork I'm going to be a good, well-behaved model student. Do you want me to take over as your deputy? Is that it? Or better yet, the Head Boy to your Head Girl?"

"No, Gary-"

"_No, Gary_," he echoed back at him. "Don't think for one minute that I'm going to cut you a break, even if you look pathetic and get Jimmy in here to rough me up. I still despise you, Petey, and you know why?" He sat up to emphasise the point, jabbing a finger to punctuate. "It's because you're a nosey, scheming _know-it-all _who thinks he knows what's best for everyone else. So just _butt out."_

It was satisfying to rip into him. Much more satisfying than making up excuses for plans that would probably work if he had the guts to pull them off. It was just what he'd needed after a boring day of _behaving_.

"God, Gary, why are you always like this?!" Petey brayed. "Don't you care about anything? Don't you _care_ if people hate you? If you have no friends? You practically begged me to give you a break, well, if you're gonna be a dick then just _forget_ about it!"

"Easy, princess," he cooed. "You're getting your panties all in a twist."

"This is what I'm talking about!" he snapped. "You know, I didn't agree with Jimmy when he said you deserved what happened to you after last year, but I'm beginning to think he was right all along!"

"All right,Pete, you made your point," he commented. "You know how I get caught up in things. No need to make such a fuss." He didn't need Petey bloodhounding him, _or _another aggressive visit from Jimmy.

"You can't treat people like this, Gary," Pete warned. There we went again, preaching like the almighty had given him the divine right to judge others by his own warped standards.

"I'm _sorry_, okay," he offered, begrudged that the wimp was forcing him to say this much just to stop the whining.

"Sorry doesn't mean anything when you say it, Gary, I-" He'd had it with this. Gary stood up and crossed the small space to where Pete stood. In the quiet of intimidation, he reached out both arms and propped them over Pete's shoulders.

"How _should _I treat people, femme-boy?" he asked, looking him square in the eyes, hint of a smirk on his lips. He knew how close they were, and that the pose was more femme-fatal than it was aggressive. That was the point. "Should I be all touching and tender? Like I think you're just the _best_ friend a guy could ask for?"

"Gary, what're you doing?" he managed to muffle through his botox face, like no other expression could make it to the surface.

"Being _nice _to you, Petey," he said softly, shifting his weight from one leg to another. "Don't you like it?"

"N-no," Petey stammered, but whether it was rabbit-in-headlights syndrome or he was just lying, he didn't move.

"Are you sure?" he murmured, craning closer, never breaking his eyes from Petey's. "Sure this isn't _doing it _for you?" Then, before he could get a fraction closer, whatever signals Petey's brain had been sending to his body got the message and he threw up his hands, knocking Gary's arms away from him and backpacing like he thought an explosive was about to go off.

"_Seriously_, Gary," he hissed. "What the hell was that?"

"Just having a little fun, femme-boy," he remarked. "I like watching those sexually-confused feelings hip-hopping across your face." Petey shook himself, rubbing his shoulder with a hand like he couldn't believe the moment had been real.

"Based on that, _I'm _not the one whose sexually confused," he said sourly. He actually flinched with Gary's laugh.

"Oh, that's rich," he scoffed. "I know exactlywhere I am." He used whatever means worked to get the point across. Just because something disgusted him didn't stop him being able to fake it.

"Right, of course you do," Petey murmured. "Going around doing weird shit like that just to mess with me. Jeesh. Jimmy wasright about you."

"What?" he hissed with such venom it was surprising Petey didn't drop dead.

"He said you're messed up whether you're on meds or not," Pete revealed. For once the moron had apparently gotten something right – it was everyone else's stupid thought that medication would make him a different person. Except Gary _hated _when Jimmy was right. It was like swallowing seawater.

"If all you've got to say is parroting the shit that comes out of Jimmy's mouth, you can fuck off, Pete," he muttered, going instinctively for his cigarettes. It gave him something to focus on that wouldn't make him lose his temper.

"Well _fine_," Petey barked. "To hell with you!" He turned and stormed out of Gary's room, only missing out the diva-ish swish of a dressing gown as he flounced away. Gary huffed as the door slammed, walking over and jamming the wedge underneath it in case anyone else wanted to come by and start throwing around stupid accusations for no good reason. No sooner was the door shut than he had an argument for himself.

"He called you a fag," a self spoke to his back as he faced the door.

"He didn't," Gary retorted. "Sexually confused, is what he said. And I'm not."

"Sure," he taunted himself. "That's why you're making up excuses for you-know-what. What are you, scared?"

"Scared? Disgusted, more like," he dismissed.

"It's a good plan, _if _you have the guts to follow through," he pointed out to himself.

"What am I meant to prove? That I _can_?" he challanged. It was an argument he had in silence, not needing to say anything out loud when he was only bickering with himself. "Of course I can."

"So why don't you? Why don't you _want_ to?"

"Fine," he bit, caving to his own pressure. "I'll try it. Not like it matters." He knew that his contradictory self would be crossing his arms now, narrowing his eyes like he didn't believe a single thing he heard. "I _will_," he insisted, goading himself until he couldn't back out. "I'll do it tomorrow."

And that was how he ended up at the In-and-out motel with Lola Lombardi.


	8. Red Light

This chapter comes with warnings of graphic descriptions of sex and some minor cursing. Yes, Gary's getting it on. If you don't like to read this stuff you can skim or entirely skip this chapter and it will be possible to learn what has happened.

However, I wouldn't advise it purely because of the fact that I believe sex is a very important, natural part of life, and that through sexual experiences we can see sides of a character we might not otherwise. Gary is a terribly closed-off character, but sex by its nature is disarming, so my intention here in bringing out this scene is not to deliver any kind of 'smut' but to show a genuinely important and in many ways emotional experience. Discovering sexuality is a huge part of growing up, whether it's that you like sex with girls, boys or no one at all. I didn't feel I could tell his story properly without including it in some way, and for me this felt like a realistic and normal experience for this character in these circumstances.

* * *

Predator - Part 6

* * *

Gary had wondered how he'd ended up in this situation obsessively since the afternoon he'd approached Lola outside school. In fact he'd more or less been chain smoking his way through the issue right up until meeting her outside the motel. Howhad he put himself in this position? Where she strolled up to him almost ripping out of her pants, wearing a painted smile he couldn't read?

"Hey, stud," she drawled as she pulled up, hips swinging. He was still in control, he told himself, this was only a slight deviation of plans and he was achieving the same goal. It was easy; even _Algie _had managed the first steps. To get to the Greasers, you had to get Johnny. To get Johnny Vincent, you got to his girl.

When he'd caught Lola outside the school gates, she didn't seem surprised, or even bitter, given that the last time he'd spoken to her she'd hit on him and he'd stuffed a cigarette in her mouth. It was almost like she expected it. And he'd thought it was going well, faking apologies, suggesting they 'patch things up'. All he needed was a high-profile sighting of them doing something implicative and it'd be over with.

Except when he thought he had her, she suddenly laughed, called him 'cute' and said if he wanted her time, he was going to have to wait. _For what?_ He almost snapped, but didn't quite dare. Lola Lombardi was a high profile femme-fatale in Bullworth, and he had to tread carefully. She could drop him at a moment's notice, and had a great record of doing just that.

So when she said he was to meet her outside the In-and-out motel on Friday night, he had to agree. Even if he didn't know what she was planning. Unlike others, unlike Christy or Gord or even Pete, _she _had an agenda. This time he was trying to play another player.

She reached up and plucked his cigarette from the corner of his mouth, setting it in hers and taking a long drag. She offered it back to him with lipstick smudged around the filter.

"Keep it," he said coldly, and she pulled on it through a carved smile, blowing smoke and steam into the chilled evening air.

"Grumpy, aren't you?" she teased, pouting at him like she saw something amusing in his face. "I think I know a way to cheer you up."

"I doubt it," he bit, snatching the cigarette back and taking one last drag, ignoring thoughts of her lipstick, her taste, as he inhaled and threw it to the ground. "Come on then," he goaded. She seemed intent that no libel would be spread about her without it being accurate, so he was going to have to dirty his hands. Lola had screwed enough people that she wasn't going to lie about the ones she _hadn't._

"Follow me, honey," she purred, then turned and led the way.

Of course, the In-and-out wasn't meant to take minors, but the dirty looking man behind the desk not only knew Lola by name, but referred them to 'her' room. Gary's skin was crawling with the sleaze of the place, appalled by the stench of sex in the air. His escape instinct was screaming for him to get away as fast as he could, but he followed her like a robot, not really thinking about what was coming next.

She led him into a room with a bed and a shower room and not much else. It felt small although there was only one piece of furniture. The only one you needed here.

"Don't be nervous, honey, I'm gonna take goodcare of you," Lola cooed, strolling over to a mirror and checking her makeup in it, then turning to offer a Cheshire cat smile at him.

"Who says I'm nervous?" he retorted aggressively, but her painted-on smile only grew.

"Then why're you still standing by the door when _I'm _over here?" she posed, and he realised he'd barely walked a step into the room. He told himself to get a grip and went over to her; he didn't care, he reminded himself. She was worthless, and that made it meaningless. Less than nothing. It was going to be worth it to get back at Jimmy. He would _destroy_ Jimmy. She was just a step on his way.

"That's better, baby," Lola complimented, reaching up to cradle his face in her hands, sliding fingers past his jaw and curling them under his ears. He watched with half-closed, suspicious eyes, stiff as a board as she trailed fingertips along his buzzed hair and giggled. "Still all pent up, huh? Well, we'll see about that." Then she leaned in, and he fell into a kiss.

At first he was tense because he didn't _want _to be relaxed, and he certainly didn't want to be enjoying it. This was something he'd goaded himself into doing, an idea he'd followed through because he was convinced it was the best way to attack the Greasers. High costs for high stakes.

But he knew that he had to do _something_, and eventually unfroze the stasis, turning for a better angle and opening his mouth. He tasted smoke and tobacco, which could at least distract him from thinking about anything else she'd had in her mouth recently. He'd done this with Christy barely a week ago, but it still wasn't the same.

They broke apart and he let out a breath he hadn't meant to be holding. He'd kissed Lola Lombardi, earning his space in the book along with all the other fools hung out to dry on her laundry line.

"Oh honey," she tutted, and he glared through narrowed eyes at her smirk. "You couldn't seem more unwilling if you tried." And that ought to have been a deal breaker, in fact, it was Gary's chance. She was waiting for him to agree with her, to back out and go running. Except his stubborn side was stronger than the coward, and it nailed his feet to the ground. He did _not _run from Lola, nor from anyone else.

"Make all the assumptions you like," he challenged, horribly aware of the feeling of his own tongue in his mouth. "I'm still here." She gave a laugh like warm honey, sweet and sticky-infectious with its delight at everything around it, then put a hand back up to his face and traced his jaw.

"You don't want me," she named, and leaned closer, so her breasts were pressed against his front, and her lips were by his ear. "_Yet_." When she blew over his ear it was cold and surprisingly tingly. He felt a shiver fighting its way up his spine and held it down.

By the time she'd drawn back he was ready for another kiss, and this time he'd prepared. This time he wasn't thinking about her, just the act of asserting himself over someone, it didn't matter who. It was his own idea to move his hands up to her waist as the kiss got more tangled, and their volition that had him groping around for curving hips. Wrapped in those pants that made him irritated with himself for watching, like _he_ could be distracted with something so lowly as a body.

He slid one hand further, then tightened the hold and pulled her fully against him, moving his tongue past hers with a flare of aggression. He felt her lips twisting up as she grinned, mouth still on top of his, and then pulled back with another laugh.

"That's better," she commended, slipping one hand down his neck until it met the junction into his shoulder. "I knew you had it in you." Gary scowled, failing to draw up any words he'd be proud of saying at that point, and dragged her back in; it was easier to do when she didn't speak_,_ didn't remind him of who or what he was doing.

He trailed his hands up to her shoulders and started to pull the jacket from them; the quicker he got it done the quicker it'd be over. He wasn't kidding himself about what was going to happen any more; whatever it was, it wasn't going to require being fully-dressed. The coat was removed with good speed and dropped on the floor, then he put one hand back to her hips and the other to her front, sliding upwards.

He'd never kissed someone for so long at once, and found the prospect of carrying on much longer repetitive and dull. It was lucky then, that she broke the contact, and backed away to pick up the bottom of his sweatervest.

"Arms up, stud," she mocked, and he felt stupid but he did it, letting her pull the thing over his head and toss it onto the floor. This was getting serious, but instead of going back in full throttle Lola drew her thumb across the front of his throat, tracing delicately over his adam's apple with the side of her nail. She was watching him, searching for something.

He moved a hand up her front and laid it over a breast. He didn't understand the obsession with touching them; it was just a shape, a soft mass that would probably be indistinguishable to Algie's fat rolls if you had your eyes closed. But it pleased Lola, because she grinned wider and made a noisy sighing sound.

His other hand was fumbling around her waistline, seeking the fastening of her pants. For some reason it had her tittering. "Good luck with _those_," she taunted. Gary shut his eyes and took a deep breath.

"Then _you _take them off," he muttered, finding the words strange in his own mouth as she took a step away from him. Lola trod off her shoes and located a tag which undid the hidden zipper down the back of her pants, then peeled them from her legs. She stepped out in only her vest top and underwear.

"Why don't you get comfy?" she suggested salaciously, turning eyes at the bed. There was no backing out now, Gary knew. Not without looking pathetic and sprouting more harmful rumors than good ones. He kicked off his shoes, reminded himself of the unimportance of this event, then went to sit on the edge of the bed he hoped wasn't infested with horrible insects and or STDs.

Lola sat beside him with a look that seemed like it was comforting more than anything. Her lipstick was smudged, and Gary wiped his own mouth guiltily of a similar stain.

"Still feeling nervous?" she hinted.

"No," he denied. "I-" he started with the idea of explaining himself. Of putting together some perfect arrangement of words that explained everything and put him in a position of total security. Except there weren't any words that did that, and he just hung mutely, like some kind of idiot.

But Lola ended that pause by leaning in to kiss him again, and that was certainly easier than talking. He turned to her and put a hand behind her head, holding her in place and twisting with her as she moved onto her back. Sprawled on top of her, he broke the kiss and went to her neck instead. Less messy. He sucked and she practically purred, so he did it harder and dug in his teeth, evoking an even more girlish sound.

He slipped a hand back to her hair and closed a fist, pulling it to turn her head away and open up more of her neck. He bit harder, and liked it.

"Easy, sweetie," she chided. "You're gonna mess up my hair." He eased off and begrudgingly pulled away from the spot that now bore marks of his teeth. Moving on, he dug his fingers into her top and then bra, feeling her nipple against his fingertips.

"Just like that," she breathed encouragingly, "nice and gentle." While he didn't think much of her school-teacher tone, before he could do anything more she'd picked herself off the bed and turned him onto his back.

It was only when Lola spread her knees and sat down over his crotch that he realised he was actually getting hard, which he found about as objectionable as he did enjoyable. As if to distract him from that, Lola crossed her arms over her middle and pulled her top over her head, discarding it to reveal a matching black bra.

He was still almost fully dressed, so when she leaned over and started to unbutton his shirt like he was a kid, he tried to swat her hands away and do it himself. But she slid her hands up to his wrists and pinned them to the mattress without a moment's hesitation.

"Ah-ah," she drawled. "You just leave all this to me. I'll take good care of you."

"I'm not-" he started to protest, then didn't know what to say – not _what? _A virgin? Well, he was. Not that he'd admit as much if he wanted to ridicule someone else for it. It wasn't that he _couldn't_ have had sex before now, he'd just not wanted to. But Lola didn't give him a chance to finish making excuses and laid a finger over his mouth, hushing him.

"Shh, sweetie," she cooed, grinning at the scowl he pulled every time. "You just lay back and relax." She unbuttoned the rest of his shirt and didn't stop, going straight for his fly and then shifting to make space as she reached into his pants, moving her hand over his boxers. "Hmm," she murmured thoughtfully, adjusting her grip like she was trying to take measurements, "I think we can do a little better than that, don't you?"

Gary didn't have anything to say, because he was still coming to terms with what was happening to him. Things had been escalating, and he'd known it was going to get sexual, but it was like everything had gone off at once. A moment ago they'd been dressed on the end of the bed kissing, and now she had her hands down his pants and he was breathing too fast not to give away what it was doing to him.

He'd obviously touched himselfbefore, though clearly not as much as some of the Bullworth morons liked to claim, but having another person gripping his cock like she thought she had a claim on it was completely different. So when she let go, part of him was relieved that he could think clearly again, but another part was disappointed.

"Pants," Lola proclaimed, and then made a banishing motion. He kicked them off with awkward urgency and laid back down like he couldn't think for himself any more. Then she sat on top of him, pressing deliberately over his crotch. Even if his head wasn't in it, there was a lot of basic instinct and biology that he couldn't help, and he was pushing back before he really realised he wanted to.

"Bra," he countered, trying to make the same spiting demands on her, _trying_ to sound vindictive, but instead he was husky. She raised an approving eyebrow, then reached behind her back and unhooked the clasp, slipping it off from the front, topless for his viewing pleasure.

He didn't have to worry about not having any idea of what he was supposed to _do _with breasts, because she picked up his hands and put them there for him. Lola seemed know exactly what she wanted him to do and was not afraid to demand it.

It was at that point that he took in the whole picture for an overbearing second. Lola's legs straddled over his waist, his erection pressed against her underwear, the curve of her hips leading up to breasts, and those were _his _hands on them, and the mark _he'd_ sucked against her neck, and the grin on her face because she was going to fuck _him_.

The realisation fell like a layer of river mud, pressing him down into the dirty, probably infested mattress. Part of him was aroused, he could feel that much, but more prominent were the senses of disorientation and loss – it _was _intimidating. He'd suspected it would come to this, and had told himself that he wouldn't care, but it was harder to convince himself of that now, when it was a reality and he hadn't the least idea of what he was doing. His hands sank down to her waist limply, taking a breather before he spiraled off the deep end.

"Getting stage fright, stud?" she jested in a mock that cut too close for comfort in that time and place. "I know a good cure for that." She lifted off him and moved down, tugging away his boxers like she was opening up mail. Bare skin-on-skin was one thing, but before he could process that she opened her mouth and wet, hot lips wrapped around him.

He'd considered, on rare occasions, what oral sex would feel like, but that didn't mean he was prepared for it to feel as good as it did. However, he couldn't quite decide if he wanted to open or close his eyes; open meant he could see her, meant he had to be reminded of just _who _was putting her dirty mouth on him. Closed he could blot all that out, and focus only on the feeling, but when he _did _glance down and saw her face, looking up and smiling like she honestly enjoyed it, a sick rush of pleasure ran from his stomach to his groin, pinning his eyes open and watching.

"That's _much _better," she commended eventually, curling her tongue around him and making his eyes roll back in his head. He didn't mean to make any sounds – to betray that he felt anything_ – _but a noise like the suppressed, choked remains of a sigh escaped his throat. "That's right," she murmured, pulling her mouth off him again. "Moan for me."

He had absolutely no intention of fulfilling deviant requests, but when she swallowed him so far he could feel the back of her throat, the connection between what he intended to do and what he _did _do was severed. He made a stifled noise – _not _a moan, but Lola seemed to find it so pleasing she stopped sucking and laughed.

"Ohh sweetie," she cooed. "You're even cuter when you try to hold back."

"Stop that," he said hoarsely.

"Stop what, honey?"

"_That_, all the baby-talk, I'm not your... anything," he growled, but she only laughed again, sitting upright and settling her weight over his groin again – a poor substitute for her mouth.

"Oh, you have _no _idea," she drawled, and he could swear the thin strip of fabric running across her crotch was wet all the way through. "Why do you think I brought you along, huh? I love taking boys like you and seeing what you're really like _underneath_."

She walked two fingertips from his navel up his chest as she said it, and the verbose, quick-witted part of Gary's mind that would've had a sharp response ready was absent. The only voice he had left was the dirty, carnal aggression which told him to do one thing.

So he held her against him and flipped, switching her down into the mattress in his place and weighing her down. Without thinking about it he was between her legs, grinding far before rational thought caught up.

"Then tell me, what am I like?" he muttered ominously, thinking he had the balance until she wrapped her legs all the way around his waist and pulled him hard against her, reducing him with an expert roll of her hips.

"Same as everyone, baby," she cooed, trailing nails softly up his back. "You don't like notbeing in control."

She looked like she might have been angling for a kiss, but Gary had direct experience of where her mouth had been last, and it was bad enough touching her _before, _much less after she'd had a particular part of his anatomy half-way down her throat.

"Unfortunately for you," Lola added, and then her nails suddenly went from claws to talons. They dug into his back over each shoulder-blade, almost grabbing underneath the bones. He flinched, caught in the confusion of it hurting, but that not being an entirely bad thing.

With her legs still locked around his waist she rolled, swapping their positions again. "_I'm _the one who's done this before," she finished, reverting to being straddled over him, legs tucked neatly by his sides. "So you're just gonna have to lay back and let me take care of it."

"I... you don't..." he started to protest, but she laughed and cut him off.

"Think I don't know a virgin when I bag one?" she put to him. "It's one of the reasons I brought you here, sweetie. I want to have you before anyone else gets to." She leaned right down over him, so her breasts touched to his chest lightly, and drew a teasing fingertip back and forth across his lower lip.

He jerked his face away and she laughed, like everything he did was more amusing than the last. "Come on, then," she remarked, leaning all the way across for the bedside table and pulling out a square foil packet. "Let's get this show on the road."

Gary wondered if every room in here came with a drawer full of condoms, or if it was just a special service they did for Lola, because neither would surprise him.

"Ah-ah," she chided when he went to take it from her. "Let the pro handle it, I'm sure I've done this more often than you have." She seemed determined to take everything from him, to make him completely superfluous. It felt strange and wrong to be on the receiving end, like having his shoes on the wrong feet. He hadn't really known what to expect from sex, but this was notit.

He couldn't help watching as she tore open the packet and went through the necessary motions. It was sleazy, but liberating in a way; Lola was hardly going to judge him for wanting her in the traitor's part of his mind. Quite the opposite. Lust was her championing force, and she'd done a good job of igniting the same carnal desire in him. If she were to offer him a way out, right now, with no costs or consequences, he didn't believe he'd take it. He'd gone too far now not to see what it really was like.

It was corrupting enough that he couldn't find anything objectionable when she discarded the fabric she passed off as underwear and settled against him naked. She was shaven, just a strip of dark hair, and even an hour ago he'd never have tolerated the idea of dirtying his hands, but now he was curious. He couldn't believe how wet she actually was, when he reached out a hand to feel her, and as he did her fingers came down between his. Before he knew it she was showing him what to do and letting out long, sighing moans.

"Just like that," she urged, basking in her moment. Gary asked himself exactly whathe thought he was doing, laying buck-naked with Lola Lombardi at the In-and-out motel doing this, but the question lay unaddressed in an inbox of his mind. Because, even though it was only sex and meant nothing, it was still _something._

Without announcement, Lola stopped and raised up on her knees. She took him in hand and positioned, then started to slowly push down. He slipped in without resistance, a curse escaping his lips as the breath was forced from him. Out of instinct and common sense he set his hands on her hips, holding her as the sensation and realisation flooded through him.

It was like he'd been shot full of drugs and they'd only just pulled the tourniquet off. She waited, rolling her hips idly so that he could feel himself moving inside her. The thought was strange, bizzare even, that he was actually_ inside_ her, and the weirdness overruled the good for a moment.

Then she started to move, and thinking went out of the window again. Lola had meant it when she said she'd do all the hard work, because Gary didn't have to do anything more than lay there watching her, trying to reason with himself through the surges that somehow this all made sense – that there was logic in his being there, doing what he was doing.

He must have tensed up overthinking it, but that seemed to do something, as Lola gave a moan and leaned forwards, changing her pace and making needy, girlish noises of pleasure over his skin. She seemed to like it so he kept rigid, and eventually started to time along with her, pushing up as she pushed down and forcing even more sensation.

Then, just like that, he pulled back too far and slipped into nothing, but before he could react, even just to curse, she reached between them and realigned, sinking back down with a whole new jolt of satisfaction.

Hands roamed from their purchase on her waist, matching the shape of one of her breasts with his hand, then he closed a nipple between his fingers. Her mouth had been on his, but she broke away, face in the curve of his neck, breaths coming fast and hard. Then the sounds stifled and Gary felt tightening internal muscles, and he knew what that meant. The thought that it was him doing it – that _he'd _made her come – had him completely separated, disconnected from his own body.

Recovering, she sat back up, moving lethargically, and then leaned back, putting her hands behind herself and stretching. She was a real sight.

"Aren't you ready to go off yet?" she asked with a groggy, licentious tone.

"Not yet," he answered smugly, focusing on the particular, unique feeling of his cock sliding up inside her, strange yet sensational. "Flip, if you're tired," he suggested wryly, not expecting her to do actually it.

"All right," she consented, and then got off him and onto her back, offering a helping hand as he moved between her legs. Being on top was different – more control – but not necessarily better; it might have been to do with his inexperience, but she seemed happy to let him try.

Towards the end they changed back, and he didn't do anything more than keep steady, letting her drive him until he couldn't think. The end came overwhelmingly, pouring out as he choked back a groan. Even the orgasm was different to ones he'd had before; partly because it'd taken longer to get to, and also because _he _hadn't been the one bringing it about. It'd been wrung from him by someone else.

His chest was heaving, skin lightly brushed with sweat, and the smell of sex so strong in the air he could practically taste it at the back of his mouth. Without the haze and distortion of being aroused, he found it sickening, and the thought that he'd been party to making the stench was almost too much. Lola got off him and he quickly rolled away to get rid of the spent condom. The traitorous proof that he was just as human as the rest of them

"Well," she broke the silence. "I must say... that wasn't bad, for a first time." Her tone was mocking and a little cruel, like she'd ranked him on a list in her head. He fumbled for his cigarettes, lighting one and dragging hard before total mania kicked in. He'd let himself be sucked and fucked like a normal person, like that was the sort of thing he'd do. It wasn't – _it wasn't _– he told himself, inhaling deeply and letting the acrid, hot smoke burn away the tastes in his mouth.

"You all right, baby?" she inquired, sitting up behind him and reaching to touch his shoulder, but he shook himself out of the contact like she could infect him. "Easy, tiger," she murmured, and withdrew the hand, realising she might get it ripped off.

Gary knew that he'd needed to do this and had accepted that. But it was meant to be fake, just going through the motions so he could use her in his plans against Jimmy. Except biology had taken over. He'd wanted it. He'd liked having sex, and that was the one thing he hadn't prepared himself for.


	9. Off the Map Lie Monsters

I keep losing track of what chapter I'm on but really does it matter. Probably not. It's the next one.

* * *

Predator

* * *

On any other weekend Gary would have used his free time to knuckle down on his plans, but this wasn't any other weekend. He'd gotten back late on Friday dirty and jaded, then spent at least an hour under a hot shower.

Though he slept like a log, when he woke he didn't get up, staying shrouded in his covers, groggy and dazed. He didn't eat, didn't dress, and certainly didn't take his medication. Doing any of those things meant addressing the real world, which he couldn't face currently; not when he felt like an imposter in his own body, like his real self had checked out the moment he'd kissed Lola last night and hadn't yet returned. Because the _real _him wasn't the person who had done that and liked it, who'd let Lola make him want her. It couldn't be.

So he stayed in bed and smoked out of his window in place of food, waiting for the confrontation.

"So, exactly why _are_ you behaving like a pathetic, washed-up loser?" he asked himself as evening approached, finally rounding on the issue when he could put it off no longer.

"That's a way of putting it," was his frosty reply. "I just didn't expect it to be like that. I didn't think it would be so... good." It sounded stupid, but that was the only word he could bring.

"You're human, of course it felt good," he pointed out to himself. "It's not like you could help it."

"I could've enjoyed it _less_," he argued. "It was so-" he broke off, grasping for words, "personal." He'd thought it would be a meaningless physical act, but instead felt as if marks had been scored all over his body. Burned tracks of where Lola had been, scarring her name just under his skin.

"It was a fuck," he reasoned with himself crudely. "It has to be personal. It's not as if you're any different now."

"I suppose," he conceded, shutting his eyes and sighing.

"Well, do you _like _her?" he questioned scathingly.

"No." That answer was glaringly obvious. The very thought of her made his skin crawl with dirty remembrance and a nauseating churning in his stomach.

"Good. That's the first thing out of the way then," he consoled himself. "Now, do you want to do it again?"

"... I don't know," he admitted. "Maybe."

"So you have more of a sex drive than you thought," he consoled. "Big deal. If people didn't like fucking, it wouldn't be such a popular pasttime."

"But I'm _better _than that," he argued. "That's why I can't- that's why..." It was why he was flipping out over this, all alone in his room like he was Peteyor something.

"It doesn't make you a weaker person just to have a libido," his reflection lobbied. "Only if you can't control it."

"Right," he agreed, but he wasn't sold yet.

"It's only a weakness if you _let _it be," he continued. "So don't let it be." Gary nodded to himself, silent and pensive in his own company.

"I can do that," he replied. "I can control it." It was tentative, but hopeful.

"Obviously," he assured himself. "If anything, it's another weapon."

"Maybe," he considered. He didn't know how well he could abuse something when it had the ability to incapacitate him so much. Perhaps he'd improve with practice – assuming he _was _going to practice.

"So quit being a big wet blanket about it," he chided himself. "It was just sex."

"Okay," he accepted. "No big deal."

"Exactly," he agreed, working himself back together, because no one else had the ability to do it. "So take what you've learned, and then tomorrow go out there and get some work done."

"All right," he relented. "Deal."

With Saturday written off, on Sunday he came back with a vengeance, having reconfirmed his sole, unquestionable position as the center of the universe – _his _universe, at least. No one shared that cosmos with him; never more than one sun in a solar system. After sluggish sleep, waking from it like a hangover, he started the new day the best way he knew how: a cigarette and poking fun at the dorm's resident homosexual. Well, the dorm's resident _closeted _homosexual.

"Petey!" he cheered, perched on the wall outside the dorm, waiting for the welp to emerge after his beauty regime. "Good morning, and whata morning it is." He took a long drag on his cigarette and blew it in Petey's face.

"Gross, Gary," he muttered, waving a hand in front of his face. "I can't believe you're still doing that. You smell like an ashtray."

"Better than smelling like someone else," he commented a little too fast for Petey to catch.

"What?" he said quizzically. "Smelling like-"

"Never mind," he dismissed. "Just chit-chatting, Petey, just chewing the fat. Come on, princess, I've got some errands to run in town and I need you." Petey looked at him as if he'd just announced he was passionately in love with Eunice and intending to go wooing said heavy-object of his affection.

"You... what?" he asked quietly. "You need me?"

"Sure, femme-boy," he confirmed, thumping a hand over the back of his neck. "What's the matter? Didn't you _say_ I should treat you better?"

"Well... yeah, but I never expect you to listen," he answered uncertainly.

"You don't know your own powers of persuasion, Petey," Gary decreed, jostling him into a walk. There was plenty of time in the day so he'd walk them all the way to Blue Skies. Nice mid-morning stroll.

"Really?" Petey didn't sound at all convinced.

"Oh yes," Gary assured. "In fact, I'm counting on it."

He used an admirable show of self-restraint and managed _not _to provoke Petey into an argument or give him reason to storm off as they made their way into the industrial estate. For which – considering he didn't take his meds at the weekends – he felt he deserved congratulation, and of course didn't get because all he was doing was conforming to the standard of acceptable behaviour.

"Just what is it you have to _do _here, Gary?" Petey questioned suspiciously, as they crossed over the bridge and derelict houses were replaced with barren industrial estates and trailer parks.

"I'm making a social call, Petey, relax," he goaded, and then strolled up to the nearest bunch of townie kids. "Greetings, unemployables," he called out brightly. "Where's the boss?"

"Hey!" one of the townies shot. "It's _that _guy!"

"Easy, boys, easy," Gary urged, glancing at Petey and grinning in response to the look of sudden and uncontrolled fear in his eyes. "I'm not here to start trouble."

"Yeah, right," another jeered.

"Really," Gary insisted. "Look, I even brought Bullworth's new Head Boy as my escort." He slapped a hand on the back of Petey's shoulder to punctuate. Then all eyes were on Petey, like jackals watching a lost rabbit that had bounced up into their den.

"S'at true?" a boy in orange mumbled.

"Uhhh, yeah," Petey answered awkwardly. "So please don't hurt us, I mean... Gary doesn't _really _want to cause any trouble," he urged, knowing that he should have expected something like this from the moment Gary had professed to 'need' him. He was clearly far too gullible – at least where Gary was concerned. The townies murmured among themselves, and then finally turned to give their verdict.

"Why'd you wanna see Edgar?"

"For a friendly chat," Gary answered. "I wanted to apologise for getting you good boys into trouble last year – I was on a lot of medication at the time, and it made me a bit... unstable," he explained sheepishly, and it was known only to Petey that the reason he was unstable was because he'd been _off _medication, not on it. Gary would obviously try to spin it the other way. He pulled a box of cigarettes from his pocket, setting one in his mouth and then holding the pack out to the others. "Can I share a smoke with any of you?" he offered suavely, and almost all of the guys stepped forwards to help themselves.

"Well.. okay," one murmured, lighting his cigarette. "I guess we can see if Edgar wants to talk t'you."

"Much appreciated," Gary purred, sucking on his smoke and blowing the fumes upwards.

"I'll go get him," another offered, skulking off with a smoke trail behind him like an aircraft track. The simultaneous ignition of five cigarettes, though a gesture that had easily wooed the dropouts, also had Pete coughing into his hand.

"Oh Petey, lighten up," Gary chided, propping an elbow on his shoulder with his smoking hand. He took a drag, then tried to put the cigarette into Petey's mouth, at which point he fussed and shoved Gary away.

"Stop it," he berated, and Gary only huffed at him.

"Don't be so square," he retorted. "Have you ever even _tried _a cigarette before? Live a little." He held it out to Petey again, who just stared at Gary's hand like he didn't understand what to do with it.

"I don't want to," he professed. "It's bad for you."

"What isn't?" Gary shot. "You're not going to get cancer from one little drag on a cigarette. I'm just asking you to demonstrate you're not a _complete _loser to these guys, Petey, so play along," he pushed, sure that Pete wouldn't hold out.

He watched the little Head Boy's eyes roll round the judging assembly of townies, buckling like so much bad scaffolding. Peer pressure was such a _fun_ tool to use, and made Gary's satisfaction all that greater when Pete reached out and tentatively took the lit cigarette from him. He put it to his mouth to take a pathetic drag on it, holding for maybe a second before he started to cough violently, which was met with laughter from just about _everyone _watching – though no one more amused than Gary.

"There, are you happy?" he croaked. Gary chuckled, his hand shadowing Petey's as he took the cigarette back and showed him how it was done.

"Watching you choke like you tried to suck too much dick? Always," he murmured with a grin full of teeth, sharp and white.

"Ha ha," Petey muttered crossly, and Gary rolled his eyes.

"Ohh, I'm just _messing_ with you, Pete," he sighed, shaking him by the shoulder sort-of affectionately. Moments later Edgar strolled up with another couple of boys.

"What in hell do _you _want round here?" the leader demanded, barbaric as always.

"Making amends, old friend," he professed, his hand still lingering on Petey's shoulder. "I even brought a chaperone as a sign of goodwill. _Here_," he cheered, shoving Petey forward a step so he stumbled. "The Head Boy of Bullworth!"

"This little pipsqueak?" Edgar crowed, peering down at Petey. "Ain't he a freshman or somethin?"

"I'm sixteen," Petey grumbled resentfully.

"Don't mind him," Gary excused, walking past Petey towards Edgar. "He just gets all worked up, it's the stress of rule or something. Not that _I'd _know about that," he jested, looking Edgar straight in the eye, free from fear.

"Well, whaddya want?" the bossman said more like an insult than question.

"I'd like a friendly little talk," Gary insisted. "Nothing more."

"You wanted one of them _last _time, too," Edgar recalled. "I don't remember it ending too well."

"Sorry about that," Gary offered. "Really, I am. I just thought you might appreciate someone from the inside updating you on how things are school-side. I mean, unless your friends Zoe and Jimmy make the trip down here and let you know about stuff like that – when they're not to busy trying to become teen parents, at least."

"Uh, Gary-" Pete started to mumble.

"Hush, Petey, grownups are talking," Gary interjected without looking away from Edgar, who was himself looking like he'd been chewing lemon rind.

"No... I ain't seen'em recently," he admitted, not quite disguising the reservation in his tone.

"Pity," Gary remarked without sincerity. "Such a shame when two people _get together_ and fall out of touch with their old friends."

"What're you saying?" Edgar pushed. "Zoe ain't abandoned us."

"Of course not," Gary assured, like a nurse to a patient just before driving the hypodermic into them. "I just... well... you boys aren't at that school, you don't see what things are like."

"_Gary-_" Petey attempted again.

"Petey, I'll give you a kiss when we're done," Gary snapped in exasperation, and then all eyes were on Pete once more and he turned a furious red.

"What- no, that's not. I'm not... he's just _saying _that," Petey protested to the critical onlookers. "Gary, tell them-"

"I'm busy right now, femme-boy," he answered briskly, standing beside Edgar with his arms crossed over his chest. "C'mon, Edgar. I've got all sorts of information for you." He jerked his head, walking off on one of the dirt tracks through the trailer park; didn't even bother looking behind because he _knew _Edgar was going to follow him.

The clever bit was that this time Gary wasn't even spinning propaganda and false truths in his ear; this time, everything he said was true. All hewas doing was informing them – the townies could go and check everything he said for themselves. Since she got back into Bullworth and had her pelvis screwed to Jimmy's, Zoe _hadn't _been spending much time around her lowlife friends – of course, classes were a big part of that, but Gary didn't have to play that up in his retelling. Instead he played up how Jimmy was _always _around her, how he used his inane charm and gifts to buy her off, to manipulate her into staying around him, and how sad it'd be if, or when, he dumped her and moved on.

It was one of those wonderful conveniences where the perfect situation already existed, and all _he_ had to do was put on the gloss. By the end of their short walk Edgar was about ready to put his hands round Jimmy's neck and choke him.

Of course, talking to Jimmy would likely set everything straight, but chances were if he came into Blue Skies he was going to be plus Zoe, and that would jam all the works. Edgar wouldn't want to speak to them together, and if he demanded to talk separately it was bound to create friction. Neither Jimmy nor his latest floozy were much a fan of being told what to do.

So with Edgar set to convince his boys that Jimmy couldn't be trusted because he was monopolising Zoe and taking her away from them, Gary went back to pick up Pete – who'd ended up crowded into a corner being intensely questioned by a townie in a white tee.

"Stop _flirting _and come on, Femme-boy," he announced. "Unless you want to stay and play free-clinic doctor with these nice young men."

"No!" Petey rushed, shouldering his way through the Townies and placing himself at Gary's side like he wanted to be there forever.

"Bye, Edgar," Gary said, raising a hand to wave him off. "Remember, if there's anything you need to know."

"Sure," said Edgar hoarsely, the next piece of the puzzle slotted neatly into place. "See ya."

They departed Blue skies quickly, as it was never the most hospitable place to be, but Petey couldn't wait long before he had to start prying.

"So, uh, Gary... what were you saying to Edgar?" he started in awkwardly. "It sounded kinda-"

"Before you get up on your high little pony," Gary lectured, "everything I told him was absolutely true and said in the very best of spirits."

"Yeah right," Petey countered sarcastically. Only the hints of a smile surfaced on Gary's face, like bubbles rising up in tar.

"Honestly, Pete," he insisted. "You heard, didn't you? Zoe and Jimmy hardly spend much time out here_, _do they?"

"Well no-"

"And she probably doesn't have all that much time for her old townie buddies any more, what with classes and doing the no-pants dance."

"Well I guess not-"

"So what's the problem with me making a little friendly conversation about it?" he posed.

"You don't make _conversation_," Petey challenged. "You talk atpeople, convince them of stuff..."

"So you say," he snapped crossly, "but why are you so sure, Petey? I had a normal, honest chat with another human being and you say I'm up to something. If _talking _to people is my only qualification, I don't have many options for fun, do I?"

"Well I... you're making this seem complicated," Petey replied obstinately.

"What are you gonna do?" Gary proposed. "Tell Jimmy? Go and rat on me?"

"If you're trying to cause trouble then yes, I will," he toughed out, cramming as much resolve into his little frame as possible.

"And there you go again, assuming that I'm up to no good just because I decided to _interact _rather than sit in my room alone all day," he hissed. "I can't win with you, can I? What do you want? For me to have no friends except for you? For everyone in this dump to carry on hating me? Here I was thinking I could start with those guys because at least they weren't at Bullworth, so I might _actually _be able to hang out with some people my own age who don't resent me, and you come in to rain all over it."

"Stop it, Gary," Petey said. "That isn't what I meant at all..."

"You have to jump down my fucking throat just because I tried to reach out."

"You were talking about Jimmy-"

"Because he's banging Taylor and she's a friend of Edgar and his boys, what do you _want_ me to talk about? Do I need a list of approved topics from you before I have conversations now?"

"It wasn't just that-"

"You don't think Edgar might _appreciate _someone coming by to tell him how his little pal has gotten along without him? He's a big boy, Petey, he knows who I am and what I did. If he'd wanted to get rid of me then he would've." That was true. Gary was never a match for Edgar physically, even if he did dwarf him mentally.

"I know he could've sent you away, but... but you make stuff like that seem impossible, Gary," Petey explained weakly. "I mean, _I_ don't seem to learn, do I?"

"What're you saying, femme-boy?" he cooed, reaching out to hook an arm over Petey's neck. "That you don't _like_ me?"

"Not when you're a jerk," Petey murmured, stiff and uncomfortable under his grip; Gary liked that, it was the way things should be. Hostile contact was his domain.

"Well you don't approve of anything I do, so I don't really stand much of a chance, do I?" he posed. "I can't smoke, I can't talk to anyone, I can't talk _about_ anyone. Apparently, Petey, your idea of a good time is you and me alone in a room together not saying anything... which honestly," he trailed into a murmur, sordid and warm against the side of Petey's face, "wouldn't surprise me."

"Get off, Gary," Petey nagged, wriggling away. "It is _not _my idea of a good time."

"Then what is, femme-boy?" he demanded. "Because I'm running out of options here."

"Okay, Gary, _okay._ You made your point," Petey conceded. "If you wanna talk to Edgar, go ahead."

"And you won't go snitching to Jimmy?" he suggested, running his fingers like a spider up Petey's arm.

"Fine, okay," he mumbled. "Unless Jimmy asks, I won't mention it."

"Gooood boy," Gary complimented, patting him on the top of his head like a puppy that had learned not to pee indoors. The day was actually going splendidly, all things considered.

However, they had only gotten half way through New Coventry when Gary heard a voice that _did_ something to him. It didn't just crawl, it was like a swarm of cockroaches loose inside him, scuttling through his body, crammed in the recesses, wriggling under his skin.

"Hey stranger," a teasing, familiar voice called across the road. His head whipped like it was on a cord. Leaning back against a boarded-up shop door was the one and only Lola Lombardi; prowling around home turf, perfectly at ease in her element. He only stopped for a step, glancing at her, and then forced his neck straight and carried on walking. "Is that all the recognition I get?" she cooed after him. "After everything-"

"Go on ahead," Gary spoke over her, instructing Petey with a thunderous expression.

"Why's _she_ talking to you?" he queried. "What could Lola-"

"Nothing," he retorted. "So be good and run along into town."

"What? Then why-"

"Just _do it_, Dorothy," he snapped. "I'm sure you can manage it by yourself, being such a big grown-up girl now. Seriously, beat it!" he snarled, turning more sour and giving Petey a shove.

"Jeesh! Whatever," Petey muttered sullenly, going off on his own and heading for the bridge. Gary turned back to Lola with exactly the same face of disapproval and unhappiness.

"What do you want?" he demanded, walking close enough to her that they could talk without people overhearing, but staying out of reaching distance. Although he didn't want to look at her and remember everything, he couldn't help it. It came back to him like PTSD.

"Still all worked up, baby?" she taunted with a smirk. "I figured you woulda gotten over that by now."

"I'm not worked up," he replied with a quiet, controlled stress. "I just have nothing to say to you."

"Oh, how mean," she replied playfully, pouting her lips as she slid the words into him like ice cubes into a cocktail glass. "I just wanted to see how you were getting on." She winked, which only worsened the sensation of cold water being poured down his back.

"I'm busy right now," Gary told her. He wasn't, but he didn't want to spend any time around her that he didn't have to. Not when just lookingat her brought on memories like a haunting; ghostly, phantom hands that did the things he'd did, touching her the way _he _had. Even though he was still rooted to the spot, the spectres of his past actions reached for her, parting from him and clawing out as deluded, licentious clouds of pheromones.

"Another time then," she suggested with an opiate tone. A voice that promised things, promised he'd feel better if he just doped up and let it suck him down.

"I'm a busy guy," he said distantly – he couldn't afford to be really rude andpiss her off. Not when he still needed her, and not when she now had the power to reveal something about him.

"And you can't make time for little old me?" she drawled as she swung closer, then tilted her head to one side and glanced up. "Yunno,I meant it when I said you were a good first time... in fact," she phrased the words like a prescription. One correct scribble from the doctor and all the pain would go away. "I'm wondering if you'll get better."

She was teasing him, he knew that, but it didn't stop it working, and it didn't stop his Adam's apple bobbing in his throat when she reached out and touched a fingertip under his chin. He stepped back out of instinct, but she just laughed.

"Oh, honey," she tittered, sauntering closer again. "I just loveit when boys play hard to get."

"You don't know what you're trying to get in for," he replied icily, though he wasn't quite as calm in the self behind his words.

"I don't?" she echoed disbelievingly. "And here I thought I had you all sussed out." Gary glanced around to make sure there was no one who mattered to notice them, then moved in.

"That's not the point," he hissed, reaching up to clench his hands around her shoulders and push her back to the wall. "When I say _no_, I mean it." It was meant to be intimidating – threatening – but all he could focus on now was _exactly_ what it'd felt like to touch her. Not just like this, but everywhere. How he could easily push her even harder up on the wall, put his mouth over hers and _use_ her to vent and dump those feelings he didn't need. The lust and desire, eating away at him like acid. He could throw them to her like the scraps of meat she so hungered for.

"Isn't it, stud?" she purred, letting the sexuality roll off her in waves. So that it would be _so_ easy.

He both wanted and didn't want, impulses contradicting one another. He told himself he had to control it; that it was only a weakness when he let it be. But if he let the urges run him, he was no better than _her_ – no better than Jimmy. So he tightened his resolve, screwed it down until it couldn't budge.

Then he looked square at her and bent his arms, ducking suddenly until his lips touched hers so suddenly shedidn't expect it. The brush was light at first, but pressure came with a slow, steady push like a closing vice. She followed the lead, mouth plying against his, swallowing aggression and lust like hot coffee.

He felt her hand go to the back of his neck and trail upwards, nails brushing up his hairline. Before she could cement her grip, he tightened his hands on her shoulders, keeping her to the wall as if she were bolted there, and pushed back, ripping his mouth away like a piece of tape. He'd played it smart this time; one minute cold, then interested, now frozen again.

"If I decide I want you again," he murmured, enjoying the haze in her eyes – like she didn't know if she was coming or going, "and that's a big _if... _I'll let you know." He peeled her hand off him. "Not the other way around."

He released her and stepped back, pulling out a cigarette and lighting it as he turned away. He took the first heavy drag as he started to walk, then turned and spat the taste of tobacco and Lola into the gutter.


	10. Time for the big game

It was a firm rule that Pete Kowalski could only keep his mouth shut for so long. It was one of the reasons he got into trouble with people. This was no exception.

"What did she want?" It hadn't been more than a minute since Gary had picked Pete up by the New Coventry bridge and started the walk back into school. Sixty seconds he couldn't go without prying his beak-nose into something.

"What?" he feigned, paying more attention to his cigarette than Pete.

"What did Lola want with you?" Pete rephrased.

"Oh, she just wants to fuck me again," he sighed, adding a nonchalant shrug. Petey observed him in silence for a moment.

"Yeah right," he dismissed.

"Really," Gary insisted.

"If you don't want to tell me, _fine_." Pete conceded with a sigh. "Talk to Lola if you want."

"And you won't tell Jimmy?" he prompted, checking he'd installed the right protocols to protect himself from the gargoyle's scope.

"Well... as long as nothing bad happens," Petey relinquished. "Though why you wanna hang around with _her _is beyond me, it's a first class ticket to a beating from Johnny Vincent."

"Maybe she just can't resist my charm," he jested, then set his cigarette in his mouth and reached out to squeeze Pete's shoulder. "You sure can't."

"That's not true," Petey grumbled. "I just gave youa chance because you're right about it sucking to not have any friends."

"Ohhh Petey," he cooed with a barbed tone. "Are you doing me a _favour_? Being my special and only friend?"

"Shut up, I didn't mean it like that," he retorted.

"All right, Patricia, calm down, I was just yanking your chain," he excused. It was nearing lunchtime, which was the time he took his meds on weekdays. The difference was only going to get more noticeable after this.

He honestly believed he'd gotten better at managing without them in the morning, but it was a challenge over long afternoons sometimes. When he'd been hell-bent on destroying Jimmy he'd enjoyed the feeling of being off medication – as if it'd refined all of his senses so he noticed _everything. _

But sometimes it could be too much, having his brain going track-skip every thirty seconds. Even though they worked to some extent, he still hated being on them, knowing what they did and what the side-effects were.

Even though taking them helped him resist the urge to set fire to Beatrice Trudeau's hair out of boredom, he still _had _the impulse. He wasn't any less argumentative or irritable, just not as likely to blow up over the small stuff. And as far as he was concerned, that wasn't enough of a reason.

Contrary to popular belief, he hadn't taken over the school because he was off meds, he'd done it because he'd _wanted_ to – and he'd have wanted to just as much regardless of what he took. Gary knew he could control himself. He could've gone off the handle at Petey for talking to him like it was a favour being friends, but he resisted because a happy Petey was a Petey who wouldn't rat on him. All he needed was motivation.

However, that impulse would only hold him for so long. When he got bored and glitchy Pete would be first in the line of fire. To say nothing of the fact that he hadn't gotten Lola's engine running for free. For the price of dangling sexuality at her like a cat-toy and then whipping it back, he'd gotten to himself as well.

He wasn't desperate, not like Jimmy, but he knew he wouldn't be able to get rid of the low, restless heat until he'd gotten off. Being so close, kissing her as if he _were _going to follow though – and knowing that he probably could've – was too much of a temptation to leave him indifferent.

Sending Petey away without tears or telling-off, he locked himself in his room and tried not to think about Lola too much, but the feelings were too recent to smother. He focused on the physical, but that only got him so far. When he _wanted_ to come, when he was half-undressed on his bed actually trying to get off, that was when _she_ returned to him, and then he came far too easily. With hissed, resentful whispers trapped under his tongue so he wouldn't speak them.

Afterwards, the lashback came like he'd walked in on _himself_ masturbating, as if he was disappointed in his own need for the satisfaction. However, he reasoned with that shaming part of his mind, at least he was doing it this way rather than going back to her. He'd wanted to get off and he had, now he could get on with more important things with a clear head.

All things considered, the afternoon had given him a lot of good information. Chiefly, that even though Jimmy was residing in a golden cloud of ignorance, Petey's ears were pricked like a startled deer. For now he'd been domesticated into keeping quiet, but he was watching Gary _for _Jimmy, and Jimmy surely knew it.

That meant Gary needed to play his cards carefully, either laying low or operating far, far away from Petey's radar. However, considering his next target, that wouldn't be too hard to do; Pete had always had an extremely aversive relationship with the jocks.

While Jimmy was typically one of the stupidest creatures with or without vertebrae, Gary could still admit to his moments of logic and daresay intelligence. What Jimmy did, or _had _done, was break into cliques in a way that wasn't idiotic. He hadn't gone straight for the boss, but through their women; Pinky, Beatrice and Mandy had all warmed to him long before he was taking on their leaders in a battle for dominance.

He'd have included Lola, but Gary was increasingly sure she'd only played Jimmy for the drama, making things worse rather than better. She never cared for him more than any other fool she played. _'Including you,_' he reminded himself, and then cringed a little. He daren't ignore the comment, because he knew that wouldn't bury it. He assured himself he was playing her as much as she was playing him, and yes, she _was _playing him.

However, Lola had been easy because she waseasy. The other girls weren't so quick to put themselves in the palm of anyone's hand. Especially not someone like Mandy Wiles, hyped up on popularity and status. She was going to require a master's touch to bring around, but Gary didn't find himself lacking.

He'd have time and space, because the way the jocks treated Petey created a dark spot on his radar. He wouldn't wise up unless things boiled over, and as the proverb about watched pots went, he wouldn't let that happen.

The hardest thing was waiting for an opportunity, but a chance eventually presented itself in the head cheerleader's reluctance to do her own classwork. Most jocks used the nerds or other weak-minded students to maintain an appearance of intelligence in spite of all the blunt force trauma, and Mandy was clearly no exception. She'd been harassing Beatrice into handing over her work behind closed doors again, as Christy reliably informed him.

So he put in a little more effort than usual into his classwork, made a duplicate copy of all their assignments, the name carefully left blank, then cornered her by her school locker one day.

"So I hear you're in the market for good grades," he announced, walking up behind Mandy so she'd hear his voice before she turned and saw who it was, expression barely wavering from demeaning boredom.

"Why are _you_ talking to me?" she accused, looking down on him like she surely believed she ought to.

"All right, I won't talk," he replied mechanically. He raised a hand with five neatly written sheets of chemistry lab notes clasped in it, and held it out to her. "Just take them." He spoke with enough authority that she took them out of instinct and curiosity. Then he turned away and walked off like that was all he wanted, waiting for the squeak of shoes on the cheap school lino as she ran after him.

"What the hell is this?!" she burst after grabbing him by the shoulder and spinning him around.

"Take a look," he retorted boldly. "Your eyes still work, don't they?"

"I know what they _are_," she snapped, "I just wanna know why the hell a little creep like you is giving me things." He ignored the insults, because he couldn't rise to them without getting off track. So what if she called him a creep? She was a bitch. Include Jimmy and they had a full set of bastards.

"Fine, don't take them," he snapped, reaching out to snatch them back from her, but she pulled away.

"Wait a second, I didn't say you could have them back," she retracted. He guessed that she'd looked at the work and was smart enough to know the right answers when she saw them.

"So keep them," he threw off carelessly, shrugging as if he went around handing out classwork to people all the time.

"I said _why_, creep," she demanded loud enough that students around them started to look, although they sure as hell kept walking.

"I don't have to explain myself to you," he retorted, trying to leave again. She caught him like before, painted nails hooking his shoulder and turning him back around, the very motion offensive. Gary was well aware that he doled out what he couldn't take, invading the personal space of others but hating when it was done to him. So he pulled his shoulder out of her hand like a rabbit breaking a snare.

"What do you want from me?" she interrogated.

"Nothing," he answered with a performance of sincerity. "I just heard you needed them." Mandy clenched the notes in her hand, clearly torn between knowing he couldn't be up to anything good but not wanting to give the work back either. Accepting a favour meant potentially owing one.

"And when did _you_ turn into a samaritan?" she posed cattily.

"I'm not," he confessed freely. "I just did it because I like you," he spat the words like chewed up paper onto some unsuspecting victim's back, "but fine, if you don't want my help, I won't bother." He reached across to take the papers from her hand, succeeding in snatching them from her and then storming off to a more quiet stretch of school corridor. Again, she chased him.

"You gave these to me, didn't you?" she said crossly, pulling them back – the once neat papers were now looking slightly worse for wear. "And what do you mean you _like_ me?" she added suspiciously, keeping her distance from him like he might try and jump her.

"I didn't mean anything by it," he dismissed calmly. "I had the notes already, I was going to sell them, but for you there's no charge."

"Why?" she asked.

"Look, I'm not here to chat all day," he retorted impatiently. "Take the damn notes or throw them in the trash for all I care." This time he walked away and didn't mean for her to follow him, and everything went according to plan. Mandy stayed rooted to the spot, lab notes in her hand and confusion on her face.

That was all it took to get the ball rolling. He'd dropped enough hints that it was only a matter of waiting for her to mull over what anyof it meant – the sudden favour, the vague statements about liking her coming from _him _of all people – and the next time he approached her she was more than ready to give him the time of day. The work had been good, why bully Beatrice at risk of being found out when Gary would dispense her assignments for free?

Soon he only needed to make a suggestion within earshot and she'd leave notes in his locker about letting him 'help her' again. As he started to supply her with good classwork, he also fed hints about his purported _feelings_.

Although he couldn't stand Mandy for a number of extremely good reasons, he let her believe that he had some kind of unrequited love for her. She didn't find it hard to believe, convinced as she was of her own appeal. He held the right balance of being complimentary and useful, without turning perverse.

And once he'd set up a line of communication, all he needed to do was close the noose. That required him to upset their little routine of take and take, which he instigated a very boring week after he'd first made contact.

"Where's my Math homework?" she demanded of him one day, when he hadn't slipped the required assignments into her locker like a good little bellysucker.

"Haven't had a chance to do it," he answered coolly, not turning from his own locker.

"Well _I've _got to hand something in before practice today, so you better get started," she ordered, and Gary took far more time than necessary closing his door and moving to face her.

"I don't have the time," he explained patiently. "Why don't you get the study club to help you or something?"

"They won't take me," Mandy replied automatically. Beatrice had seen to that.

"So then I'll help you," he answered, leaning back on the locker to look her up and down. He couldn't deny that she was attractive in the bluntest physical terms. Sometimes, when she was around, he wondered what it would be like to sleep with her. If he'd enjoy it.

When she was being particularly obnoxious, he could easily think of owning her until her arrogance and confidence was in tatters, doing to her what Lola had once done to him. However, the rest of the time he wanted to embrace her exactly as much as he wanted to do so Edna. She was too fake and entitled. He couldn't fuck someone's façade, nor a fake reputation and do-it-yourself-personality.

"If you have time to help me, you've got time to do it," she told him authoritatively, and he didn't break eye contact.

"I have time to spend _with_ you, not for you," he answered, gauging her reaction. She was wary of him, like most people were, but Bullworth memories weren't long-lasting and he was useful to her now, which made remembrance even shorter.

"What's your _deal_?" she demanded.

"My deal is instead of taking cash or favours from you for homework, I'll take a nice friendly chat," he replied calmly. "Is that hard to believe? You know I like you."

"You keep saying that," she said unpleasantly, as if she didn't quite know what he meant by it.

"Why shouldn't I?" he replied, shrugging. "I admire the way you operate."

"I don't operate," she insisted, and he sighed.

"Of course you do," he replied surely, and then picked himself off the lockers. "Look, either let me help you and find out what I mean, or run along to your boyfriend and his cronies, I'm sure they give you _plenty _of stimulating conversation." He started to walk, but had only taken a step before she answered him.

"All right," she agreed quietly, "but don't you dare tell anyone."

"The thought never crossed my mind," he assured her with a winner's smile.

She met him in an empty classroom after the final bell, and once he'd helped her through the painfully simple work, he explained how she was one of the most powerful girls in school. Ted answered to her, even Earnest would eat out of her hand if she asked him to. There was very little she couldn't get done, he elaborated, and once awakened to the power of her position, she'd be able to start using it.

After that she fell in line quickly; every other boy she talked to was an idiot or hopelessly attracted to her, rarely paying attention to anything she said, much less looking at her face. He wasn't like that, or so she soon realised.

Even then, their association was carried out almost entirely behind closed doors, which was exactly how Gary wanted it. Privately Mandy had no one to advise her better, no one to shield her from _him_. Before long she'd started to vent about the things or people who pissed her off – because he'd listen, and because she thought he'd never tell anyone, or if he did that no one would believe him. Soon she was telling him things that would blow a hole in the gossip scene at Bullworth, but he never passed on even a word, because her confidence was more important to him than anything else.

They weren't exactly friends, but he quickly became a confidant and advisor. When she was fighting with Ted, he gave her tips on how to have him back on his knees begging her to stay with him, as well as a few instructions that had Earnest sniffing the ground over which she walked and promising to try and pass rules exempting cheerleaders from detentions.

It worked perfectly. While Gary had pulled wool over the eyes of the clique leaders before, he'd neglected the girls – the queens behind the kings. As it turned out, he actually found them easier than the boys.

Once he was sure of his new line of communication, he started in on the big hunt. He was meeting Mandy in Bullworth Vale – away from the prying eyes of school – to run over the week's assignments, hand over the copies he'd done for her, and then most importantly talk over the news. He was sat outside one of the cafés smoking as he waited.

"Hey," she greeted upon arrival, sitting down opposite him, while he made a small gesture with his smoking hand to acknowledge her presence.

"So," he announced drolly, "what's new?" Time to pull the cord and let it rip.

"Eugh, Earnest keeps trying to _talk _to me," she huffed, crossing her arms across her chest; he liked Mandy most, or hated her the least, when she was talking smack about someone, so he encouraged her to do it as much as possible. It was certainly more entertaining than anything elseshe had to offer.

"Still?" he probed, inhaling again and flicking ash into the ashtray. A pack of twenty cigarettes lasted him just less than a week now.

"Well he thinks he's my new boyfriend or something," she moaned. "You be nice to a nerd _one _time and they think that you're like, into them or something."

"They're terribly starved for affection," he replied frostily. "If he's bothering you, why not ask Jimmy to take care of it?" he suggested craftily. Mandy said nothing, and he lifted his eyebrows at her. "No?"

"Jimmy's okay..." she said vaguely, "but he's usually around Zoe these days, or he only wants to talk to Ted and not me."

"Typical," Gary replied. "You don't like Taylor?" He knew the answer, but he needed to start her off, and this was the best way of prompting it.

"She's a rude, grimy bitch," Mandy declared concisely, "and Jimmy is crazy for even wanting to get with her."

"You know," he commented, "I couldn't agree with you more." Mandy watched him with approval. This was why she'd been so easy to take in; he said all the right things, had all the right opinions. He'd been so terribly and persuasively _easy _to talk to that she couldn't help herself, and had been foolishly lured into his confidence.

She thought she was better than Gary, doing him a favour by even spending time with him, and that he looked up to her admiringly for the generosity of her company – no clue as to the real game.

"Well, even _you _aren't wrong all the time," she declared. She liked talking down to him, because he was still marked as a troublemaker on a good day and a case for Happy Volts on a bad one. He let her only because his subservience was necessary, but curses and retorts still lodged in his throat like half-swallowed food.

"So what does Jimmy do about it?" he put to her, and she rolled her eyes.

"He doesn't do _anything_," she declared. "Though the bitch clearly plays him."

"He lets her," Gary pointed out. "You've seen yourself how easy Hopkins is to push around. I mean, _you_ did it, _I _did it." He never pretended that he hadn't done what he did. That only made for lashbacks later on. He referenced it briefly, without fuss or drama, drip-feeding it to the plebs until they'd accepted it without even realising.

"He's not _all _bad," she replied, not quite prepared to trash the person she had a high-profile fling with last year. "It's just _Zoe_, she makes him..." Gary paused, waiting for her to find the right words, but they didn't seem to come.

"She's a bad influence," he prompted. "What are you gonna do about it?"

"Do? Why do I have to _do _anything?" Mandy replied defensively.

"All right," he murmured, leaning back and taking a last drag on his cigarette. "So don't do anything about it." That was what Gary wanted, after all, for them to let Jimmy drift away. If Mandy didn't want anything to do with Jimmy, Ted and the jocks would eventually fall out of line too. Or they would when he was finished with her.

She didn't have quite the hold over the clique that Gary required just yet, but that could easily be changed. Ted wasn't the brightest spark, and with a touch of emotional abuse and manipulation, Mandy could have him laying down across puddles for her in no time.

"How's Ted?" he inquired after a slightly uncomfortable pause. He'd been careful not to seem like a romantic threat, speaking freely about her boyfriend and offering tips and advice on the smooth running of their relationship. Just as he could turn sensuality on, he could keep it off, retaining the appearance of an admirer without ever giving off the aura of a predator.

"All he wants to talk about is how he's failing English," she huffed. "Like it's _my _fault he can't spell."

"Well, if he's not paying you the attention you so clearly deserve," Gary managed to say without sarcasm, "you could always remind him that you're not a permanent fixture in his life. You don't _have_ to be dating him."

"Are you saying I should break up with him" she questioned tersely, suspicious that this was leading into a bad pick-up line.

"I didn't say that," Gary replied, "but... if you appeared interested in someone else, he might change his attitude. In fact," he added with the hard-sell, "you could always kill two birds with one stone, and solve the Zoe problem as well as the Ted problem."

"Oh?" she prompted, knowing when he was giving her an idea.

"Well, if you were to remind dear Jimmy of who he liked before that crusty redhead came onto the scene, you could pull _him _away from Zoe and Ted would probably sit up and take notice too," he explained innocuously.

"That's not a bad idea," she granted, and Gary bit on the words at the back of his mouth. Of course it was a good idea, it was _his._

"Just a suggestion," he dismissed, as if he didn't really know what he was pushing, much less expected her to follow it through. His was the opposite intention, but that was the point of the game.

As it turned out, things went even better than he planned – Mandy exerted herself over Jimmy the following school week, putting him in the awkward position of being torn between two attractive girls who hated one another's guts. Jimmy wasn't about to commit to Zoe, but he surprised Mandy by not dropping the trailer-trash straight up, and offended head cheerleader's pride.

Ted took what he saw as Jimmy getting friendly with his girl none too favourably – he'd barely gotten over the last time it'd happened – and as a result all the jocks started to sour on Jimmy. Sure, they weren't about to betray him, and still put on niceties when it was necessary, but Gary saw behind the scenes and knew that all was not well. The cracks in Jimmy's foundations were almost too fine to see, but it'd only take one earthquake to demonstrate exactly how fast they could crumble.

And funnily enough, an earthquake rolled along all by itself.


	11. Tidal Wave

Although he hadn't been obvious about spending time with Mandy outside of school hours, that didn't mean no one had noticed Gary playing the shadowy acquaintance behind the scenes. In fact, as his position became more secure, he wasn't so careful about making sure who saw. As with anything at Bullworth, word got out.

He was on a bench near the school building with a post-dinner cigarette, judging people as they walked past, when out of the crowd of slacks and skirts a familiar sight of skintight leather swanned into view. She could have just been walking by, but he saw her trajectory and when he raised his eyes to hers he knew she was there for him.

"Hey, stud," she announced a touch more condescendingly than he appreciated, like the moniker was meant to be a joke.

"Yes?" he answered in spite of his best advice to ignore her. He'd always found it hard to ignore people when he ought to, and Lola didn't give up easily. One of them was bound to crack first.

"Is one of those cigarettes for me?" she proposed in her lilting, babydoll drawl.

"Depends if you leave after I give it to you or not," he said icily, trying to keep his eyes up on her face, but with their positions he was at the level of her waist, making it far too easy to trail his vision across her body, wrapped in leather and sex appeal.

He didn't really understand why he could be around Mandy and feel nothing but boredom, but Lola only had to _stand_ in front of him. The selves that were usually so rational and detached were silenced around her, drowned under the drone of a single force that didn't need naming.

"That hurts, baby," she mocked. He tired of being looked down on and stood up to meet her on the level, which would also help him stop staring at her body. "What I want to know," she started softly, sidling closer to him, "is why a guy like you wants to hang around with girls when there's a _real _woman you could have at any time." The statement passed like an bullet through his temple. He'd known it, but hearing her say it was an unpleasant shot of temptation.

"I don't know what you mean," he answered in a slightly-strained murmur.

"Well, what could _you_ possibly want with a girl like Mandy?" she questioned cattily.

"Are you jealous or something?" he put to her, and the thought – that _she_ could be annoyed _he_ spent time with another girl was a sickening pleasure.

"_Jealous_?" she echoed laughably, touching a hand to her face like she was considering the notion. "Just curious, baby. She isn't really your type."

"I have a type?" he queried, eyebrows reaching upwards.

"Sure you do," she insisted, swaying her hand like she might reach out and touch him, but was just waiting for the right moment. "Mandy's a little too vanilla for you. You like a girl with a bit of fire in her."

"You're sure of yourself," he said, surprising himself with the smoothness of his own voice. His hands had started to fidget, unable to settle because the one place they wanted to be was something he couldn't permit yet.

"Well, I know what you like," she remarked, and there was something in her voice that Gary couldn't resist any longer. He breached the short distance to brush his hand against her, just fingertips at first, spaced across her waist.

"And that's you?" he mouthed, the words carrying on a breath that was more sigh than speech. Fingertips along her hip became a full palm, and she put herself into his hold like she wanted nothing else.

He knew that it was an act, that she was playing him for desire because that's what she wanted, but it did nothing to discourage him. It was what she was therefor, and if he was going to offload his temptations somewhere, it might as well be on her. His hand reached lower, moving and groping unashamedly.

"Who else?" she proclaimed, leaning closer until her chest was almost to his, their faces nearly together.

Gary wanted to be able to say something, but there was a rush in his ears that drowned it out; in the back of his mind, he knew that this would be useful, but that rationale was not the reason he had a handful of her ass and lips almost brushed against hers. It was because she was, to an extent, right_. _He'd found himself wanting something from her all over again.

It wasn't really _her_ he was attracted to, he reasoned, but her attitude and unabashed lust. That she wanted him enough to chase him, and how she fed on the desire that he found so cheap. Mandy was fake, but Lola didn't disguise anything, no matter how scandalous.

She just waited on him, letting the breath mix between them, enjoying the hunt as he made up his mind. She was a predator just like him, but for a different kind of prey. To her he was just a prize.

Watching her mouth, he reminded himself she had to have kissed Johnny, that she could've kissed Tad, Chad or even Algie. He would be sharing the same space they had. Although he tried to disgust himself, the drive in him had an answer, which was to be on top, erasing all others.

So he cupped a hand behind her head and pulled her against him. Twisting into a kiss and taking what he wanted because she'd put it out there to be consumed. She'd baited him until he bit, and here he was.

It was a dangerous to do this in such a public place, but that only seemed incidental now. He was blowing off the frustration that surfaced around her like steam. Bottled up because he hadn't yet exorcised the affliction of lust.

He kissed her hard, and without considering the action, trailed a hand down her body before closing around a breast – _now _he knew the appeal, understood the sharp, sexual gesture and what it meant. She knew too, and hooked her hands around his neck, marking his skin with her nails, which only made him clench her harder. He was lost to the powers that charged up and down his spine lighting fireworks between every synapse, electrifying him like a Tesla coil.

But now he had to control it. He could only do this if he had the ability to stop. There was no shame in exploiting and enjoyingit, as long as he could pull back. So he drove the last of it out, thinking he could submerse himself in her so deeply it made him sick, and that he might come back up on the other side.

He could've turned and pushed her against the wall, but that wasn't really what he wanted in the pit where desires rose like toxic fumes. Still grasping her, he sat back down and pulled until she was kneeling over his lap.

She reveled in the position of being above him, looking down with a knowing smirk. With a hand of delicately-shaped, but deceptively sharp nails, she scored lines from his neck to his scalp, dragging through the mass of hair and tugging his head back. He'd thought he'd never enjoy a position like this, being pushed and pulled around and played at like he didn't have a choice, but the guilty truth was that when she pulled him by the hair and lowered her mouth on top of his, the only thing he wanted to do about it was enjoy the ride.

He drew her harder against him, closing like a clam, and his chest heaved, pressing against hers. He'd almost had his fill, but still imagined being able to reach through her clothes and touch her elsewhere. Maybe another time, he consoled himself. Nothing was set in stone – there was no reason he _couldn't _fuck her, regardless of whether it figured in the plans or not. He could do what he wanted, and wasn't bound by anyone's rules. Not even his own.

So while he toyed with an image of her gasping and pleasured, he reached the point of knowing he could stop. He'd taken his fix, and like an engine running slowly to a halt he trailed off the embrace, falling from penetrating kisses to light, clumsy brushes, easing her away from him.

"Nice catching up with you," he commented sarcastically, a crooked smile hooked on one corner of his mouth, fumbling with a free hand for his pack of cigarettes as a substitute, a distraction.

She was still straddled over him, eyes glassy and a tigress's smile on her face. He separated her lips with a cigarette, sliding it from the pack and popping it in her mouth instead of his own. Producing a lighter she leaned over for the service, taking a couple of drags and then clasping it between slender fingers. She turned her hand and set the filter between his lips, letting him take a drag and blow the smoke back at her.

"I don't imagine Mandy gives you _that_, does she_?_" she said deviously, keeping the cigarette in her hand and resting it over Gary's shoulder.

"What do you want me to say?" he replied, keeping his hands on her waist, letting her feed him the cigarette in puffs.

"Just what I know is true," she purred, reaching with her other hand to wipe smudges of lipstick from his mouth.

"Which is?" he baited.

"That I'm the best you're ever gonna have," she bragged. At least she was ambitious, he reasoned, but that didn't mean he was going to roll over for her like just any luststruck idiot.

"Only if you admit it too," he countered. Lola tittered, rubbing again at the corner of his mouth, then trailing her nails through his hair again, which he found surprisingly pleasant. He felt like a pet rubbing his head against an owner for enjoying it, but if she did it without prompting he wasn't going to stop her.

"Oh sweetie, you're not bad," she remarked, lifting up his chin with a couple of fingers to look at her, "but still a little rough around the edges."

"Good enough for you," he replied, knowing he was far too close and far too comfortable, but even like this he enjoyed the tension, the veiled insults and flirtatious trade of jabs. Over Lola's shoulder he could see the students gathering, and knew it was going to spread like wildfire. It wasn't exactly the way he'd planned it happening, but it would work all the same.

"I don't imagine your boyfriend is going to take well to this," he pointed out wryly, punctuating the statement with a squeeze of her body in his hands. It ought to have been a serious moment, but they were both smiling. He didn't care that she had a boyfriend or whether she wanted to cheat on him, just as she liked to play around and see how far she could push Johnny and still be taken back. Neither of them were fit to be anyone's moral authority.

"Hmm," she murmured, almost proud as she failed to remove herself from his lap, picking the cigarette out of his mouth and then kissing him in its place, which he allowed out of laziness more than anything else. "I wonder what he'll do to you."

"I'd worry about him, not me," Gary said ominously.

"Aren't _you_ the bad boy?" she taunted, and he slid a hand around to sit on top of her thigh, thumb brushing into her inner leg.

"You have no idea," he answered, resonating with condescension rather than affection, talking down to her like she did to him. He caught her wrist as it moved between their mouths, fingers wrapping around until he could feel her pulse, and then reached with his other hand for the cigarette, pushing her away as he took it for himself.

"Is that it?" she prompted with a touch of petulance as she was forced to stand.

"From me?" he remarked maliciously. "Yes." He took a last drag and threw the butt away. "Bye," he announced almost like a catcall, and then touching two fingers to his mouth, he pressed them against her lips. One final imprint, a last taste, indirect as it may be. "See you around," he added, making sure her last look of him was smirking.

Students stepped aside for him as he passed by, some almost admiring, more confused. Like he was a walking ghost. The peace had a unique charm because he knew it for what it was, a moment of stillness before a hurricane. It made it soothing and golden rather than boring.

He went to his room and took a leisurely nap, and may or may not have done something about his fantasies in the meantime, but it was nothing to concern himself with when he had a storm to wait for.

The banging on his door woke him up, and as he expected there was a row of pissy-looking greasers on the other side of it.

"Good evening, greaseballs," he goaded. "Let me guess-"

"Johnny Vincent's gonna _end_ you," one of the short ones snapped. It was close enough to Gary's suggestion.

"Is he?" Gary answered like he was delighted by the proposal. "Well then, let's not keep him waiting." Going quietly evaded any unnecessary beating this early in the game. As he'd hoped, Jimmy was at Johnny's elbow when they shoved him into one of the dingy auto-shop garages. Jim looked less than happy about being there, but Johnny's expression blew him out of the water.

"There he is!" Johnny bellowed. "I'm gonna kill him! I'm gonna-"

"Calm down, Johnny," Jimmy barked. "Let's just get everything straight first."

"Lovers' tiff, boys?" Gary remarked acerbically, leaning back against a bench like a tidal wave wasn't about to hit him.

"All right, Gary," Jimmy began sternly, ignoring the jab. "People here, including Johnny, seem to think you've been fooling around with Lola, and Johnny's awful riled up about it, so if you'd be good enough to explain-"

"Yes," Gary said like a box cutter ripping through cardboard.

"Yes?" Jimmy parroted dumbly. "Yes, what?"

"Yes, I fucked her," he answered gloriously, and there was a full second of complete silence and stillness before Johnny flew at him.

"I'LL KILL-" he started, the rest of the words lost to his temper as he made a very good attempt to sock Gary in the face. However, Jimmy got in the way, grabbing Johnny by the arm and holding him back, so that his fist sailed past about an inch away from Gary.

"Okay, Johnny, calm down, cool it," Jimmy urged, glaring daggers at Gary. "This is _Gary_, remember, he says all kinda shit." Still trying to save the Titanic.

"Ask her," Gary challenged. "Or would you like me to provide some extra-personal details so you know I'm not bluffing? How about the way she shaves her-"

"You bastard!" Johnny snarled, struggling against Jimmy again. Gary almost wondered why Jimmy was stopping him, it wasn't as if he cared what happened to him.

"Easy, Johnny!" Jimmy yelled. "Jesus fuck, you'd beat up a lampshade if someone told you it'd been flashing suggestively at Lola."

"He's done it," Johnny growled. "I can see it in his eyes."

"He's bullshitting," Jimmy maintained.

"For once, Jimmy, I'm not," Gary interjected aloofly. "She's a pretty good time, for a tart, but then I'm sure you know that already." Jimmy stopped struggling with Johnny and really _looked_ at him, staring as if he had a lie detector in his head that was only just adjusting to new settings.

"_You?"_ he said finally, a hand still hooked around Johnny's arm.

"What?" Gary replied.

"And _her?"_

"So?!" he snapped with a touch more guilt in his voice than he expected to hear.

"I thought the only person you loved enough to do was yourself," Jimmy answered lewdly.

"I'm gonna kill you!" Johnny roared up again. "Get off, Jimmy, I'm gonna pound him."

"Why bother?" Gary interrupted. "You think I'm the only one to blame? The problem isn't _me_, greaseball, it's that piece of ass you call a girlfriend."

"I hate to say it, but he kinda has a point," Jimmy commented. Johnny appeared to listen, but without losing the heat on the cauldron of his temper.

"Then, then... then I'm gonna pound _him_, and make Lola stop cheating on me!" he proclaimed. "Jimmy, she'll listen to you, you've gotta-"

"Good luck with _that_ one," Gary muttered under his breath. There was a force in this or any other world that'd stop Lola doing exactly what and who she wanted.

"Shut up!" Johnny snapped. "I'll deal wit' you in a second, scumbag. C'mon Jim," he entreated once more. Pathetic that they all still bowed to the little chess piece King with his crown of broken threats.

"Whaddya want me to do, Johnny?" Jimmy offered. "Hitting Gary ain't gonna make Lola stay, and aside from locking her up I don't see what's gonna work."

"That, that..." Johnny blurted, trailing off into a frustrated groan. "It was him!" he burst, casting angry eyes over to Gary. "He musta said somethin' to make her think... Lola told me she was gonna change." Gary didn't bother to repress the bold, bright laughter that rang from him.

"Oh, that _is _precious," he snorted. "I practically had to beat her away with a _stick_, Johnny."

"Shut up!" he hissed, covering his ears for a moment, then throwing them down again. "It ain't true."

"No, really," he persisted, "I was thinking of starting to glue my pants shut, because she keeps on coming back for more."

"I've had enough of you," Johnny snapped, prowling forward alone. "Uh, Jimmy?" he called back. "What're you waiting for?"

"What?" said Jimmy blankly. "You can do what you want to him, Johnny, but I'm not getting involved with you and Lola any more. I learned my lesson." Jimmy was at his best when he was predictable, Gary reflected contently.

"You mean you ain't gonna help me?" Johnny accused.

"He didn't do anything to me," Jimmy pointed out. "If Lola wants to screw with you by screwing the school Crazy, tough break, man. She ain't _my _girlfriend."

"How could ya, Jimmy?!" Johnny exclaimed. "Abandoning me when I need-" Gary took Johnny's heartfelt rant as an opportunity to make a bolt for it, charging past him to much yelling and ruckus and heading for the fountain. Johnny, and very soon other greasers, were hot on his tail, and a few stones from slingshots got him in the back. Bruises to be saved for later.

They eventually caught him half-way past the gate to the auto-shop, and though he put up what fight he could, there were more of them than him, and Johnny Vincent _was _supremely pissed off.

"All right! All right!" came a loud, bold shout as his vision was starting to darken around the corners. "That's enough!" First and foremost, Gary was pleased when the greasers beating him stopped and scattered like a pile of leaves kicked up by a stroppy child. However, he was less pleased with who had intervened on his behalf.

"Worried they'll have all the fun, Jimmy?" he questioned hatefully, swaying on his feet, swiping blood from his mouth and then spitting on the ground.

"That's what happens when you fuck someone's girlfriend, Gary," Jimmy chuckled vindictively, crossing his arms over his chest.

"Worth it, if only for the look on his face," he declared, daubing at his nose and realising it too was bleeding, then writing off a shirt sleeve for the expense. "C'mon," he murmured, "if you're going to be a Samaritan, you can make sure I get back to the dorm in one piece."

"Sure," Jimmy agreed, "for ten dollars."

"Ten?" he scoffed. "Forget it. Half my pack of cigarettes," he bartered instead. Jimmy's eyes narrowed, considering the proposition, and Gary imagined spitting blood in his face just for the reaction. He didn't need any help getting back to the dorm, but Jimmy would stop the Greasers coming back for more, and it boosted appearances if Jimmy was seen with him – encouraging Johnny Vincent to think he'd lost the sympathy and loyalty of the so-called King of the School.

"Okay," Jimmy acceded. He got his pack out to light one himself and then handed the remainder over. He had more in his room anyway.

He avoided speaking to Jimmy on the painful trudge back. He'd expended so much of himself on this trap that he was determined not to lose sight now; he'd sacrificed too much to give up ground, and communicating with Jimmy with anything other than vitriol might lead him to err from the path. Howver, Jimmy had other ideas.

"So, finally got over yourself and got your rocks off?" he remarked crudely.

"Shut up, Jimmy," he muttered.

"You're crazier than I am if you'll fuck Lola," he carried on obliviously. "But then, we knew that already."

"Did you even _hear_ me?" he pushed.

"Can't say I blame you, though. If it weren't for Johnny and her crazy mind games, I woulda done it myself."

"You didn't?" he asked sourly, realising a heartbeat later he was engaging and that was bad.

"You think I want to die?" Jimmy snorted, and noticed Gary's relief around the same time Gary noticed it. "Y'know, I hate to say this, but if you're worried about sloppy seconds-"

"It's not that," he snapped, "just you." He could live with everyone else sharing her, but having been with the same thing Jimmy had was like a finger down his throat.

"Hey, I just saved your ass," he lauded. "Least you could do is show a little gratitude."

"You'd like that, wouldn't you?" he hissed, voice like steam off a kettle. They were almost at the dorm now, and he didn't need Jimmy any more, so he set off ahead – or attempted to, at least, because he was caught by the back of his jumper.

"Just what is your problem?" Jimmy dug the question like a note on the end of a knife, driven right into Gary's shoulder for him to rip off and read. "I thought that getting you v-card stamped might make you less of an uptight bitch, but I guess-"

"You guessed _wrong_," he jumped in before Jimmy could go any farther. He didn't know how or why Jimmy was sure that Lola had been his first, but it was only insult to the injury of his general presence. "My problem is you, Jimmy Hopkins. _You're_ my problem." Already battered and beaten, he let the hate seethe from him, pouring from every pore, rolling off him like a hot sweat.

"You'll wanna be careful with talk like that," Jimmy said with soft, unspoken threat. "I wouldn't want to have to teach you your place again."

"What place?" he shot. "You didn't _leave _me a place, Jimmy. You just threw me off the map, like you threw me-"

"I didn't throw you, your dumb ass fell from that roof," he cut in.

"Is that what you tell everyone?" he declared. "How _clumsy _of me," he scoured the words, patronising and insincere, like scum from a bathtub.

"You need to watch it," Jimmy threatened. "This is the last time I do you a favour."

"Since when did I need your help?" he snarled, but before he could snap fully, Gary felt himself muzzled; _not now_, he told himself, not when he was so close.

"I shoulda left you to the greasers, then?" he slammed, and Gary just waved him away.

"What's a little more pain, Jimmy?" he asked vacantly. "It's about all the interaction I get from people these days."

"Whose fault is that?" Jimmy put to him, and Gary actually managed a proper grin past bruised lips.

"And you wonder why I fucked Lola?" he proclaimed. "Why, with the company I have, what could I _possibly_ find lacking?"

"Oh yeah, you're a real victim," Jimmy mocked, slathering on sarcasm the only way he knew how.

In a way, Gary appreciated his obstinacy. No matter how hard anyone tried to convince him otherwise, Jimmy refused to accept that Gary could ever be deserving of pity. Jimmy _never _stopped believing he was who he was. So in some ways, Jimmy knew him better than anyone else. Among all the fakes and doubles, all the carefully crafted alter-selves, Jimmy never lost sight of the real him.

"Well, if you'll excuse me on this _high note_," Gary parodied. He started for the dorm, running onto the invisible rails that would lead him safely to his room.

"Hey, wait a sec," Jimmy called after him, and Gary paused at the door, half-looking backwards over an aching shoulder. "How was she?" he asked cheaply, an idiot's grin on his face.

"Jimmy," he said in the pattern of a scold. "Am I the sort to kiss and tell?" The question hung in the air like a piñata.

"Uh... yeah," Jimmy swung bluntly. "You're _exactly _the sort." Gary allowed himself a pained smirk. Jimmy would be less fun if he didn't face off with him for exactly what he was.

"So I am," he responded after a teasing pause. "Well, if you _really _want to know..." he savored perversely, and Jimmy hung from his words like a gorilla. "Fantastic," he answered at last. No shame in giving Lola due credit, and it'd probably reflect worse on him if he said it sucked.

"Huh," Jimmy murmured almost enviously. "Figures." He glanced down, as if considering the experience for himself, and then when he looked back up Gary was gone.


	12. Tip the see-saw it's time to play

Gary had wanted to start spreading rumours of Jimmy's slow, inevitable mental deterioration as soon as possible. However, his apparently newly-publicised fling with Lola Lombardi had repercussions beyond his estimation. It took no less than five attempts to get Christy Martin to talk to him, and the first words out of her mouth were actually somewhat of a shock.

"Is it _really _true about you and Lola?" she snapped, burning with the wrath of a woman truly scorned.

"What?" he said without thinking.

"I mean, you actually _did it_ with her?" Christy's accusations were barbed, and it was her tone that gave away her emotion – the one Gary had tried to pin on Lola, which had only made her laugh. Christy was _jealous?_

"Would that be a problem?" he asked neutrally.

"Well... I thought you had better taste than that," she answered cattily, and he held back a sigh. This was an annoying turn of events, and now he was going to have to do something regrettable about it.

"I do, Christy," he answered, fixing her with a sincere look. " I promise." The words felt stale in his mouth, acrid on his tongue. He found it hard to believe he'd actually made out with her before, even if it had turned his stomach.

All he could wonder was _why. _He supposed – thinking to himself as he ran over the worn out, rusty gears of greasing her back up until she thought that he liked her_ – _it hadn't mattered because he hadn't desired anyone, so she was no better or worse to engage. It was only now he'd discovered what it was like to actually want someone that he realised how empty it was without that.

He had to waste a hefty amount of his time convincing Christy the thing with Lola had been blown entirely out of proportion, and that if he was ever going to state preferences he'd _naturally_ pick her, but at least once it was over with he had a good and loyal vessel for carrying out his latest bombshell of news.

"I heard something interesting," he started after they'd made some mildly nauseating amends, sitting on a bench behind the school while he smoked a never-ending sequence of cigarettes. "Apparently, there's meant to be someone from Happy Volts coming down to _observe _some students they think are 'at risk'."

"Really?" she replied bemusedly, giving him a pointed look as she touched up her lip gloss. "You mean, like..."

"Not _me_," he specified under the obvious accusation. "I'm being watched already. That's how I heard they were watching Jim... I mean, _other_ students," he faltered, catching Christy's eye with a devious twinkle.

"Did you just say _Jimmy_?" she gasped. "For real?"

"I shouldn't have said anything," he denied quickly, making it seem like he was trying to keep the secret, and therefore assuring its reality. Anything he told someone in earnest would be known for a falsehood.

"But why?" she pressed.

"_Why? _You really have to ask yourself that?" he queried. "Think about any of the things he's done at this school." Over an academic year Jimmy had killed plants, stolen alcohol, broken and entered, destroyed property, and generally got himself into more fights than Edna had served hot dinners. While Gary accepted the title as the craziest psychopath in Bullworth, it was only by a small margin.

"Well... I guess," she murmured a little uncertainly. "So what, is he gonna get locked up there like Johnny Vincent and Mr. Galloway?"

"I don't know," Gary answered blankly. "All I saw was a list with names on it, and his was right at the top. Maybe it means nothing," he suggested, knowing that Christy would make it into something regardless.

"Ohmygawd," she gasped, and started to get up and hesitated, looking at him and realising she couldn't just run off. "I... uh, have to go," she blurted, and he shrugged with a half-likeable grin as she dashed away to start spreading the news.

Once she was gone he took a deep drag on his cigarette until he coughed, hacking up spit and mucus and spitting on the ground. He wasn't sure if she'd always been _that_ unattractive, or if his perception had somehow changed, but the thought that his tastes had been changed by _her_ was almost enough to make him spit up a second time. Of all the people allowed to manipulate him, Lola Lombardi was almost at the top of the list.

However, he could put it out of his mind for now, because he had more important matters to attend to. As useful as Christy was for spreading rumours, she wasn't a reliable source and everyone knew it. To actually make his suggestions plausible, he needed a vessel who would appear innocuous enough to be taken seriously. Someone who would convince others _for_ him.

And with a matter of scandal, downfall and mental instability, there was no better clique to turn to than the preps. He'd already caused Gord and Pinky to fall out with Jimmy, as well as instilling some firm doubts in Bif, so he knew they would have no trouble taking the news in. But to start the fire with them would be a waste of confirmation. He had a better candidate in mind, but the bell got in his way before he could get to work.

When the wheels in his plans were turning so smoothly classes were agony regardless of whether or not he was taking his medication. All he wanted was to _not _be there, so he couldn't focus no matter what he did. One dose at a time, he started to miss the afternoon meds. It made so little difference he didn't bother, and was smoking in substitute to keep his nerves still.

When the long, unbearable day of learning was finally through, he made straight for Harrington House, strolling in with half a cigarette still smoking in the corner of his mouth, like he could cloud out the air of pretension. A few preps lingered about the lobby, but no one he needed. Gary let the cutting looks – both for merely _being _there and also for smoking indoors – roll off his back and went in search of his mark. He wandered between rooms with authority, as if he knew something that entitled him to be there, and no one stopped him. He didn't find Tad Spencer anywhere on the ground floor, but he did catch a glimpse of long, pale legs and a giggle that could shatter glass.

_That'll do,_ he thought to himself. If Pinky didn't know where Tad was, she'd at least be able to call him in – provided Gary was nice enough to her.

"Pinky, hi," he announced his arrival like it was arranged, stubbing out his cigarette in a pot plan and approaching the queen of the preps.

"Ew... who let _you _in here?" she said, looking at him like she'd found a sale tag on a birthday present. She was one of those girls, Gary theorised, that probably looked completely different in the mornings, before she was groomed and dressed up like a dogshow poodle.

"I let myself in," he answered, knowing he couldn't let anything but confidence and arrogance exude his person or they would scent weakness. "I'm looking for Tad."

"So?" she replied cruelly.

"Well," he began with a quiet, unassuming murmur. "I was hoping you could help me find him."

"_Me? _Why would I do something like _that?"_ she retorted, words dripping with the condescension typical of her clique.

"Why? Because you're a nice, considerate, charminggirl who'd love to help out a fellow student," he persuaded with a devil's tongue. He could tell she found his cheap attempt at flattery laughable, but at the same time, she was still weak to praise.

"I don't know where he is," she dismissed, but all Gary did was pull up a chair.

"So I can wait," he countered coolly, crossing one leg horizontally over the other. "Plenty of ways to amuse myself awhile."

"Like?" she questioned shamelessly, crossing and uncrossing slim, smooth legs. Her skirt wasn't short enough to see straight up, but it left enough hints to make Gary's eyes linger a little longer than they ought to.

"_Like_ talking about more of your good qualities," he led off, spotting the smile hiding behind Pinky's attempts to keep a disinterested face. She'd never liked him much, but as with all preps her favourite topic of discussion was herself, and it didn't take much to get her started.

If only she were still going out with Derby Harrington, he reflected as he railed off compliments and admiring chatter. There'd be nothing more satisfying than snatching Derby's girlfriend from behind his back. It wasn't like Lola, were about anyone could pick the fruit off the bough. Pinky would be a shock to everyone, most of all to Derby. The very thought was almost enough to make her attractive to him.

He took to pretending she _was _still dating the inbred bottle-blonde, and even though it wasn't true, he started offering more than just empty compliments, dropping dirty hints and actually _flirting_ until she blushed bright red on one occasion. He squandered some more time sweetening her up while guiltily enjoying it, and then found out where Tad was hiding his sorry self between psychiatrists' appointments and gene therapy. With a dab of persuasion, Pinky went to fetch him and sent him off to meet Gary outside prep territory by the fountain.

"What is it, Smith?" Tad asked as he strolled up looking disgruntled and a little fraught, his accent strung between American and faux-British as usual. "Pinky led me to believe that it was of the utmost importance I come out here to talk to you, so you better make this quick and relevant."

"Is that any way to greet an old friend, Tad?" he mocked.

"You are not my _friend_," Tad muttered defensively. The anxious would-be had every reason not to trust Gary, after everything he was responsible for; but then, that hardly set him apart from the rest of Bullworth.

"Relax, Tad," he cooed. "You're all worked up. If I were you, I'd try to keep my tension levels nice and _low_, circumstances considering."

"You don't intimidate me, Smith," he retorted.

"Well, you know," Gary hissed, bolting to his feet and looking Tad right in the eyes, "I should."

"Oh, and why is that?" he goaded, full of arrogance.

"Why? _Why?_" Gary shot, his voice full of tight, twisted amusement. Like his sense of humour had been warped beyond recognition by this place, until he found funny what would drive others mad. Or maybe he'd already been driven mad, and that was why he found it so laughable. "Because I'm an example of what they _do _to you here," he glowered.

"Am I supposed to be scared?" Tad demurred.

"If you knew what _I _knew, yes," he muttered. "They put me on medication, sent me off to Happy Volts, pull me back and forth like a dog on a leash. I'm not denying it. That's how I know what they have in store, Tad – why I know _who_ they're going after next."

"What do you mean, _next?_" he exclaimed, no longer looking down on Gary like a stain on his second-best slacks.

"You think I'm the only one they keep tabs on in here?" he posed. "If only, friend. You all should be so lucky." Now Tad's demeanour started to shake – anyone with more than half a braincell knew that Gary was made an example of, and was far from being the only kid in school worthy of his treatment.

"Wh... what?"

"Not to surprise you or anything, but I'm pretty familiar with the goings-on between here and the asylum," he explained, "and _that_ means I know who they have their eye on." Gary gave him a long, accusatory look.

"Just what are you trying to imply?" he rushed. "Why are you looking at _me_ like that?"

"Oh, no reason," he dismissed.

"I'm not suspect, I visit my therapist three times a week!" Tad proclaimed shrilly.

"That's probably why they're watching you," Gary offered with a shrug. "If you let them treat you like you're unstable, that's exactly what they'll think you are." It was his philosophy, at least.

"That isn't- this is unfair!" Tad shot. "How dare they!"

"Well, you're not the _only_ one on the list," Gary softened for him. "I mean, think of all the snakes and psychos in this school. All those people far more worthy of being put away than you."

"Ex-exactly," the prep agreed indignantly. "So why don't they pick on someone deserving... and... and how do _you _know all this anyway?!"

"I just keep my eyes and ears open, Tad," he remarked coolly. "If you don't want to believe me, fine. It'll be your commitment."

"No, I didn't say that," he retracted. "I was just saying... _if _the school are observing certain students, who would they be observing... more?"

"Well, if you wanted to deflect the teachers and nurses' attention away from you," Gary remarked vaguely, imparting the idea like a gardener transplanting seedlings.

"_Yes_, I mean... go on," Tad concurred awkwardly.

"It's not hard to see who they want to break in next," Gary told him aloofly. "You just have to look around and realise which violent, aggressive, broken-home-baby causes the most trouble around here. I mean, who broke up the clique system everyone was so attached to?" he put to him. "You think they _want_ someone like that strutting around like this place is his personal sandbox?"

"Hopkins?" Tad guessed. "He isn't... well, I mean he can be a little thuggish, but-"

"You know what they say a psychopath is, Tad?" Gary questioned; he had a lot of _good_ definitions. "They say it's a person who fights too much and fucks too much. Sound familiar?" He paused for a second, and noticed Tad's eyes boring into him. In spite of the fact that the description fit Jimmy far more accurately than it did him, people still jumped to lump him with the title. Gary bore the opinions and judgement of others, tiresome as they were, because he'd accepted that idiots clung for labels to slap over the things that threatened them, and that it'd be a losing battle to try and convince anyone otherwise.

"I... suppose," he murmured. "Hopkins is unpredictable, certainly."

"That's _one_ way of putting it," he remarked, rife with sarcasm. "How many times has he beaten you up?" he added. "Your _friend_ Jimmy? Your 'boss' as he likes to say. I mean, no one with a solid grip on reality really acts like that," he scoffed. "Surely you see that, right?" He screwed each point in like he was driving Tad into a board, bolting him down into a single passage of thought. However, the prep was still a little hesitant to take words from an alligator's open mouth; Gary could see it in his eyes, brows drawn together and conflicted.

"Well fine," Gary resigned. "Let them take you instead."

"No!" Tad burst suddenly. "I mean, what do you mean, _take me?"_

"I mean they're not going to stop with me," he snapped, "_Someone_ is going to become the new guinea pig for Bullworth's medication-heavy solution to fixing troubled students, and if I were you, Tad, I'd make damn-well sure it was Jimmy." Then, as he had Tad flipping like a trout in the bottom of his net, he delivered the killer blow.

"Don't think I know what you're thinking," he added carelessly, and Tad started like he honestly though Gary had read his mind. "If you're wondering why I'm telling you this, I'm not going to lie. I don't need to. I won't pretend I don't hate Jimmy, and I'll admit that I want to see him get the Bullworth-Happy Volts collaboration like I did. That's _exactly_ what I want," he declared without shame or guilt, laying his cards on the table so surely it was impossible to tell how deep the bluffs ran.

"But it just so happens," he carried on, Tad's eyes on him like a Catholic hearing Mass, "that what I want coincides with your best way for protecting yourself.

"So... you want me to-" the prep started hesitantly, reluctant like a horse refusing to go to water.

"Tad, old friend," he cut in condescendingly. "_I_ don't want you to do anything. I'm just informing you of a situation, and you can do what you want with that information. The choice is entirely yours." Then he stood up, setting a fresh cigarette in his mouth, and lit it as he walked away.

He couldn't help grinning like a jackal on the way back to the dorms, breathing smoke and victory, unnerving the passers-by he encountered with his expression. Tad was too gullible and vulnerable not to take the bait, so would surely mention something about Jimmy to his so-named friends, if only to see what they thought of him.

Once he touched his vein of corruption against Gord, Pinky or Bif it would ignite like fuse. They would all bandwagon, eager to assuage their own insecurities and pin the fault on Jimmy. When Derby heard talk casting doubt over Hopkins, he would throw his lot in and leap at the chance to turn his clique away from the subservience to Jimmy he so clearly detested. It was going to be pure _poetry_.

So Gary let his plan ferment, mulling it like an alcohol until he dropped the next ingredient, which he employed the next time he spent time with Mandy – who'd distanced from him a little since the fallout surrounding Lola, but he only needed to make it seem like he'd gone for her because he couldn't have who he _really _wanted, and she quickly went back to treating him like an academically-useful charity case and friendly ear to complain into.

She was ranting about Zoe Taylor again, as well as Jimmy's extremely unpopular choice of Zoe over her, and Gary finally got the chance to get a word in edgeways.

"You've heard the rumours, though, right?" he offered coolly, taking a break from his cigarette to actually speak for himself; often he just sat making non-committal sounds and nodding as he chain-smoked his way through their meetings.

"What? What rumours?" she asked suspiciously, knowing how well _he _could be trusted with a piece of mistruth.

"You haven't heard? I've been saying it for ages, but people are finally realising that Jimmy's a little... conflicted, in the brain department," he phrased delicately. "I mean, in terms of his _mental stability_."

"What? You're not saying he's crazy?" she accused.

"I'm just saying anyone who dumps you for Zoe Taylor can't have all his marbles in the right place." He was deliberately blunt, and could tell it stung Mandy's wounded pride – words like 'dumped' never sat well with people like her. "It's the preps that have been saying it anyway," he explained, as if clearing himself of involvement.

"Why? What's _their_ problem with Jimmy?"

"They don't have a problem with Jimmy, Jimmy _is _their problem," he answered. "He's unpredictable and hurts people. Perhaps he's been getting worse, or, maybe they're just sick of him," Gary suggested blithely. Mandy didn't look like she knew exactly what he meant, so he filled in the gaps for her. "The 'king' business?" he elaborated. "Pushing people around, beating people up with the pretence that he's justified in doing it. Not exactly normal behaviour, any way you look at it."

"Then... what have they been saying?" she fished at last, finally caught on the hook he'd been hoisting over her so persistently.

"Just that he's unstable and might need some _treatment_ by the school," he said. "I'm sure it means nothing, they'll put _anyone_ on medication these days." He spoke of it like an exclusive members-only club, pretending to dismiss the rumour so that Mandy would think she was being contrary by listening to him and actually considering the creature known as Jimmy Hopkins.

Gary didn't have to do much, just put the binoculars to their eyes, for them to see him as the brawling, usurping thug that he was. From there it was nothing to realise that Jimmy didn't fit the _pattern_, that he stuck out – people weren't meant to be so aggressive, so easily angered and brash in their actions. And when someone didn't fit in, that meant they needed to be fixed. Mandy was part of the higher-class of generic tools, so to her the instincts had to be second nature.

She took the idea easily enough, and like poison in the water, the news spread through Bullworth; people whispering about how maybe Jimmy wasn't the great saviour everyone had been led to believe. So maybe he'd stopped some of the bullying, they whispered, but he'd started more fights and brawls than any bully ever had, not to mention the riot. If it wasn't for Jimmy – and Gary, of course – that riot might never have happened, people started to murmur. It was only because Jimmy shook up the system that all the cliques were bold enough to rebel against one another.

Like rolling a map out across the sky, pinpoints became constellations and Gary's plan started to materialise. People began giving Jimmy suspicious looks, as if he were about to snap at any second and start a fight with whoever was closest to him. Students were afraid of him once more, and his 'friends' started dropping like flies. Gone were the days that he could stroll into the canteen and be admired and revered by all inside – where he could stroll among them like a lion in his pride, receiving greetings and respect on platters.

However, there were still a few loose ends that needed tying up, if Gary was going to do this properly. A phase of unpopularity wasn't enough, Gary needed to stamp him with the _C _for crazy on his forehead, to indelibly mark him as dangerous, unstable and not to be trusted – two for company in hell.

That meant pushing further, but _that _meant getting the last few pillars of support out of the way. Or footstool of support at least. And to save him the trouble, Petey came looking for _him_.


	13. Rip-tide of razors

Gary was laying on his bed with hands tucked behind his head, imagining himself engaging in a sordid act on it, when he was interrupted with a timid knock at the door. Fantasy was a way to feed the fire without needing to share it with anyone. He told himself he wasn't imagining anyone in particular, but there were certain shapes and trademarks that harked of the familiar.

"Go away," he said sourly, eyes riveted on the ceiling. "I'm busy." Busy in the sense that he was wondering if he could be bothered to jack off or not. It was an easier deliberation than the one on the back-burner of his mind, about whether he'd take Lola up on that offer. Perhaps when Jimmy was put away and the dust had settled, he told himself. There was no reason he _couldn't _do it again, especially after his this plan folded up neatly like a paper crane.

"It's important, Gary," a voice replied through the depressingly thin Styrofoam panel. "Open up." With a sigh, Gary abandoned any thoughts of enjoying his fantasy and got up, pulling open the door to an indignant looking Pete.

"This better not be about your first period," he huffed. "We've been through this already."

"Shut up, I'm serious," Petey grumbled, trying to project confidence but somewhat failing in the attempt.

"Oh, you're _serious?"_ he parodied. "I'm shaking in my shoes."

"Just... just shut up," he bit with the same-old tone of overused begrudging and put-upon meekness. Then, like a fit of impetuousness overcame him, he strode past Gary into his room, pulling the door from his hand and shutting it. "I want you to tell me about Jimmy."

"Jimmy Hopkins?" he queried like he didn't know, holding up a hand. "About so high, face like a bulldog? Tendencies to fight or hump anything that isn't screwed down?"

"I _meant_ all this talk about him being crazy," Petey replied crossly. "I know you've got something to do with it."

"Do you now?" he answered with a voice like an echo, bouncing responses out of the dark, cold depths after Petey's frightened shouts.

"Y-yeah," he said with just a hint of a stammer. "This reeks of you all over, Gary," he accused. "So I want you to stop."

"Oh _Petey_," he purred, strolling over and sitting down on the edge of the bed like the force of Petey's temper had overwhelmed him for a moment. "Look at you, all bold and brave. Did you learn how to stand up for yourself from Jimmy? Is that why you're so desperate to defend him?"

"I'm defending him because you've been-"

"I've done nothing!" he snapped with a mouth of sharp, clenched teeth. "I haven't said a damn thing about Jimmy being insane, not to anyone."

"You don't _need_ to say something directly," Pete rebuffed. "You-"

"Why would I go to the trouble of implying Jimmy is crazy?" he snapped, "I don't even think he _is,_" he clinched, and the steam started to run out of Petey in sad, confused puffs.

"Wh... really?" he questioned.

"Of course Jimmy's sane," Gary answered. "I mean, I don't think _I'm_ crazy either, but ask anyone else around here and I'm sure they'd disagree," he trailed off and waited for a few beats, making sure he had the timing just right, until the look of salvation was starting to rise up in Petey's face. "But do I think he should be on medication?" he added innocently. "Sure."

"What?" Petey responded indignantly. "Isn't that the same thing?" _That_ fried a circuit in Gary's head, send a flash of anger through his system like a power surge leading to a blackout.

"Is it?" he snarled suddenly, shooting up like the shocks had run from head to toe, forcing him to stand on electro-impulse alone. "You tell _me_ if it's the same thing," he hissed like the electricity was boiling his blood in his veins. He knew he lost his temper quicker without medication, but didn't see why that should be a bad thing; Petey would think twice before making that mistake again.

"Wait, no, I didn't mean... this isn't about _you_," Petey desperately tried to retract. "It's about Jimmy."

"Right, of course," he condescended. "Let me set things straight for you, Petey old friend. I know you want to think I'm responsible for any and all ills that befall dear Jimmy, but what the students of this school think about him is down to only one person: _himself_. He's brought it all on his own head. Haven't you said before that he's a psychopath? Charging around with his kamikaze fighting spirit and disrespect for anyone but himself? How many times has he left you behind, huh? Dropped you like a sack of shit because he found some ass to chase, or a fight to get into? Really, Petey, you _don't_ see it? Because I'm amazed if you can't – I imagined _you_ of all people would be able to see Jimmy for what he really is."

"That's not- it isn't like that," Petey argued feebly.

"Isn't it?" Gary shot. "Why _are_ you so eager to protect Jimmy's image, falling over yourself like one of his little harem to convince everyone he's a good person... unless," he murmured with a hot, sick tone, "unless you're a concubine too."

"What? I don't even know what that's meant to mean," Petey muttered evasively.

"It means," Gary started, prowling up to him, "that I'm asking if you _like_ him." He eyed Petey intensely, making sure he knew exactly what kind of 'like' he meant.

"No!" Petey interjected furiously. "I like Jimmy, but that doesn't mean I'm _in love _with him," he consolidated. "God, only you'd think that." He was sticking to his guns, and Gary couldn't have that, so he reached out and held Petey's chin between his thumb and forefinger, tipping his head back a little.

"You protest too much," he breathed, narrowing his eyes as he started down. Pete's face was the same as it'd always been. Too round and straight in all the wrong places. Like the geometry had been set wrong in defining his features. He wore the same scowl he'd formed just for Gary's oft-unpleasant attention on him. Tolerated only because it was better than nothing. Gary feigned a discovery. "_Oh_... I'm right, aren't I?"

"Get off me, Gary," Pete bit, pushing his arm away. "It's none of your business." He hesitated the moment he said it, like he realised he'd given exactly the wronganswer.

"Oh dear, Petey." He basked in the moment, smiling as if looking up into warm, caressing sunlight. "Look what you said."

"I didn't say anything," he backtracked, shoulders drawn together like someone had a bungee cord pulling him closed from the inside.

"Is that why you want to blame _me_ for Jimmy's failings?" he suggested. "Because you want him to be perfect – your perfect man?"

"Stop it, just _stop it,_" Petey ordered weakly. "I know what you're doing, Gary, and it's not going to work."

"I'm like the bogeyman to you, aren't I?" he snapped. "I'm always manipulating someone or committing some misdeed. The perfect monster under the bed for you to blame everything on."

"You're not innocent," Petey muttered. "People are talking and I know you're involved."

"Why? Because your hero couldn't possibly be flawed?"

"No because-"

"Because people realising that Jimmy is a violent, unreliable _meathead_ means that I surely told them that?" he barraged on. "It's not like anyone could make such a wild observation for themselves, is it?" Smashed statement after statement into him, waiting for Pete to cower and give in. Soon, like he wanted, he saw the determination start to fade.

"All right, Gary," he sighed, heaving a long breath like Gary had crushed it out of his chest.

"Don't take it too hard," he murmured sweetly, reaching for his face again, though Petey stepped out of reach. "I'm sure there's _someone_ who'll notice you eventually."

"Enough, Gary," he said wearily. "Just remember that I warned you."

"Warned me?" he growled, reaching to grab fists full of Petey's blazer. "About _what_, femme-boy?!" He let the anger coarse through him, thrumming through his veins like hot metal.

"About whatever it is you're trying to do," he replied.

"And what are you going to do, stop me?" he hissed, pulling Petey closer until he was up on his toes. "Run tattle-taling to your boyfriend, only, _oh_, he doesn't like you. How fucking sad."

"Let go of me!" Petey spat, struggling but unable to push Gary's hands off him; when it came down to it they both knew who was stronger.

"Or what? What can _you_ possibly do to me, Petey? You're nothing," he slurred. "The only reason you have anything is because of Jimmy, and he doesn't even care about you."

"Shut up, that's not true," Petey fought, still pulling helplessly against Gary's wrists, firm against him.

"Isn't it?" he cawed, but before he could go on Petey's shoe connected extremely hard with his shin, and with a yelp he wasn't quite proud of, he let go of him and stumbled back. "You little bastard," he snarled, grabbing his leg. It felt like he had steel toecaps on.

"I learned a few other things from Jimmy too," said Petey, dragging his slightly-squashed toes along the floor. "Well, I tried Gary. I did try." His voice took on a sudden tone of departure, and Gary realised that he could still trip on the last hurdle. Petey couldn't turn on him now. He'd been careless and let his temper flare, but he could save it. Pete only needed to be neutralised for a little while longer. He was sour now, though; the situation required desperate measures. _The _most desperate measure.

"Wait," he rushed, putting the pain in his leg aside and reaching out for Pete as he turned away. "Don't go... look," he groaned, pulling the words up from the darkest recess of his mind, coating them in sincerity and feeling. "I'm sorry, okay? I take it all back. I'm _sorry_," he spat again, and Petey looked at him like he was cats drowning in a sack.

"Gary," he sighed, turning back around and crossing his arms. "You have to stop this."

"I know," he said, biting down on the words like bullets between his teeth. "But... don't say anything to Jimmy, not yet. I can fix it," he murmured brokenly. He'd half-dropped to grab his leg, and now went down the whole way, clutching his shin in his hand pathetically. He let Petey look down on him so he'd think he was in charge, and when they met eyes, Petey seemed to be about to cry or laugh.

"Okay, Gary," he spoke with soft, relenting words. "But you have to mean it."

"I do," he insisted. "Please, Pete."

"All right," Petey acceded. "Just... don't do anything stupid, okay?"

"Yes," he murmured, rubbing his face with one hand. He could pacify the squalling baby. Just say the right words. "Thank you," he added softly, making sure to break Pete's heart and make sure he couldn't tape it back together in a hurry. "Really, Pete."

"It's for the best, Gary," Pete seemed intent to assure him.

"Of course," he begrudged, words lodging in his throat like bullets coming back up. "On which point, I have... _things _to do." An excuse that would get Pete away from him and start the race against the clock. He wouldn't need long. It was going to be easy.

"Okay," Pete assuaged. "I'll go then... bye." He reached the door and waved half-heartedly, while Gary only raised his eyes and offered a world-weary smile, torn in pain and defeat.

The moment the door clicked shut, every muscle in his face contorting his expression to a wicked, diabolical smirk, carving all the way up his cheek. Sometimes poor little femme-boy was just _too_ easy.

With Petey delayed, if not actually stopped, Gary knew he had to act fast. It wouldn't be too challenging because the next part was easy. All he had to do was write a fake letter from a concerned parent expressing their worry over a particular 'James Hopkins' his son had been talking about, and some of things they had been hearing That would start the ball rolling; Crabblesnitch would be obliged to investigate the complaint, and when all sources pointed to Jimmy being unstable and estranged from his fellow students, McRae would be called in to work her magic of a professional opinion – just the way it'd happened to _him_.

Only Jimmy was too stupid and obnoxious to talk his way out of it and take the sentence lying down. If they wanted to prescribe him a new personality he'd fight it tooth and nail, and fast-track his inevitable slide up to Happy Volts for 'corrective treatment', like Johnny Vincent and others before him.

Gary had prepared the letter weeks ago in a fit of boredom, so it was no more work than dropping it in a postbox in Bullworth Town and waiting for the tides to change. He was _far_ too excited to sleep, so wandered around the town a little, but there was a despairing lack of things to do or even people to annoy.

He ended up back at Bullworth soon enough, sneaking past prefects and slipping into the dorm. It was quiet, like a ghost town, but strangely peaceful. Sometimes it was nice to be able to amble through the corridors and common room without anyone else there, no noise or screaming bullies or chaos.

Considering the celebratory nature of the circumstances, he dumped his outdoor clothes, laid back on the sofa and lit a cigarette, tasting the sweetness of breaking rules and clouding the room with smoke, blowing it upwards like steam off the Blue Skies' chimneys.

Taking into account Bullworth's somewhat lacklustre postal service, he could probably account on the letter arriving by the day after tomorrow, or the end of the week latest. Either way, that meant Jimmy would be gone by the weekend, and Gary could revel in his victory without the boring interruption of classes.

As could be expected, he woke up in an extremely good mood the following day, and whistled merrily through morning classes, at ,east until Dr. Watts threw an eraser at him. He usually had this class with Petey, but didn't see him for some reason – it was unlike the little welp to skip lessons. Nevertheless, he sailed through lunch in a slightly-agitated haze, not really missing his medication and almost _enjoying _a meal, even if it was cooked by Edna. Though the afternoon dragged, he amused himself by imagining the school without Jimmy in it, or better yet his eventual return as a broken person, ostracised and hopped up on meds. See how much _he _liked it.

Jimmy's head was now resting in the guillotine, neck stretched over the block. All Gary was waiting for was the blade to fall. When it did, when it came slicing, slamming down, it wouldn't be his head that Jimmy lost, it'd be his _mind_.

Except, one day passed, stood ankle-deep in the water waiting for the surge of tides, and nothing happened. No sound of Ms. Danvers summoning Jimmy to the office as Dr. Crabblesnitch received his letter and then called into question the mental stability of one James Hopkins. Gary was watching the office like a hawk, but nothing changed.

In the back of his mind, paranoia told Gary something had gone wrong, but he choked that voice out, wrapped his hands around the throat and silenced it. He'd managed it perfectly, left no piece out of place. It wasn't _possible _that something had gone wrong.

But then another day later, when he let up his vigil and went back to his room, it was occupied. People waiting for him was one thing, but he opened the door and saw not only Petey in the middle of the floor – loitering around like he knew exactlyhow angry this was going to make him – but Zoe the tramp Taylor was sitting on his desk like she owned the place.

He'd barely exchanged ten words with her, _ever_, because she'd taken a dislike to him from year zero. Before she even knew him, before _anyone_ had him pegged as a loose canon, she'd treated any interaction with him about as favourably as an infestation of lice – which she probably had. On the few, _very _few times that he'd attempted to speak to her, she'd given him nothing but attitude and the occasional threat. And that was before Jimmy arrived.

Now she made no secret of the fact that she hated his guts; for Jimmy, for Edgar, and for generally being who he was. If he so much as looked at her he got glares. Dare he open his mouth and she would interject a 'fuck you' before he could so much as speak. She was completely, totally unreasonable, and he accordingly hated her back just as much – more – than she hated him.

So why she was sitting on his desk smoking out of the window, as he'd sat and done himself on many an occasion, was beyond him.

"Gary," Petey started before he had a chance to say anything, his hands held up like flat little stop signs. "Now, don't freak out."

"Freak out? What? What are you talking about?" he hissed, and then cast his eyes upwards, narrow and angry. He fixed on Zoe, but she just glared back, and then he noticed she was smoking one of _his_ cigarettes, the tell-tale open pack beside her. She'd actually gone through his stuff. "Why is _she_ here?" he bit, and Zoe said nothing, perfect poker face, and dragged on his cigarette. "Those are mine," he added.

"I'm so scared," she retorted sarcastically, and then took a final pull and stubbed it out on top of his desk. Not the sill or wall, right on his desk.

"Seriously, Gary, don't... don't lose it," Petey reiterated, and Gary felt his attention lash back onto him like a rip tide pulling at his feet.

"What? _Why?_" he growled, and then something occurred to him, and his face fell. "Wait..." he murmured.

"I tried," Petey said, "I warned you. I-"

"You?!" he barked, feeling his voice roughen. "What have you done?"

"I... uh, we, _we_ stopped you," he answered shakily, glancing over to Zoe like she was his one and only protection. She probably was.

"Stopped? You... how could you?" he said with a quieter, calmer tone, reeling the temper back in so he could bank the fire, stoke it until it was white hot.

"I knew you were up to something," Petey elaborated, his voice a bouncing tripwire of conflictions, his hands knotting in one another. "So I... I... went to Dr. Crabblesnitch."

"You rat-"

"Shut up, Gary!" Zoe bellowed suddenly, more masculinity in her voice than Petey. "Let him finish!"

"Or what?" he spat like dirt.

"Or the next cigarette I put out will be in your face," she snarled, and Gary didn't doubt she would – he wouldn't let her have the chance, though. He'd break anything that got close enough to touch him.

"I talked to Crabblesnitch, and he let me go through his mail to check for anything suspicious," Petey burst suddenly. "So I found the letter, Gary." To punctuate, he pulled a folded shape out of his back pocket and held it up to him. "He hasn't even seen it yet, and he's not going to."

"I've never seen that before in my life," he maintained.

"You're lying," Petey told him. "I've read it, Gary. You sent this."

"How could you know that?" he shot.

"Because I know _you!" _Pete snapped. "I know what you're like, what you try to do. I knew you were planning _something_, but this? _This?_" His voice climbed higher and higher. "You wanted to get Jimmy diagnosed as insane? Did you think they'd send him to Happy Volts?"

"He sent me!" a vindictive, angry cry tore from him like someone else had shouted it.

"He didn't," Petey retorted. "You got yourself into that mess."

"Who pushed _who_ off the roof?!" he bellowed, and he felt the belted, chained temper inside him loosening as reality sank in; Petey had intercepted the letter, stopped it from reaching its target. He'd missed the final piece of the puzzle, the last section of the railway track. Now it was going to run off the rails and go crashing into the desert.

"I said don't freak out," Petey said quietly, and Gary forced the monster down like he was stuffing his guts back into his slashed-open torso. He stopped himself, swallowing his own advice like large, coarse tranquillizer pills – he was long off his medication, but to prove that he _could_ he had to be able to control his temper. Screaming at Petey wasn't going to do anything. He rubbed his face, trailing his hands up through his hair, scraping it back from his forehead.

"You said you weren't going to tell Jimmy," he murmured ominously. "You _said _you were going to let me fix it."

"You think I don't know when you're lying to me?" he asked bluntly, a sickening amount of condescension in his voice, like he was a long-suffering parent, not a pipsqueak of a so-called friend.

"No so far," he snorted." Petey had never been able to draw the lines before, but then, like a card player waiting until the final hand before declaring victory.

"You think you're the _only _person who can lie, Gary?" Pete said, and Gary realised like a retch in the back of his throat that Petey had lied to _him. _He'd said he wasn't going to tell Jimmy, made him think he was on-side, and really he'd been anything but. It came crashing down around his shoulders.

"You betrayed me," he said with a muffled, low murmur, focusing on Pete with a look that could rip through flesh and shatter bone.

"Yeah. It's not nice, is it?" Petey answered.


	14. Sat on a wall, had a great fall

Gary imagined for a moment setting free the monster inside him. He knew it was there, skulking behind his ribs, frothing at the mouth and clawing inside his chest. It wouldn't take much to let it go, prying his bones apart and lunging for Pete, tearing him apart like cheap paper napkins.

"I stopped you," Pete was saying. "I stopped all _this_. At least being Head Boy is good for something." Gary wanted to hurt him until he realised the error of his ways and learned _never_ to try something like this again. He only kept the dog chained because it wasn't Pete's blood he wanted. If he was going to go off, he'd do it on Jimmy.

"Well, where is he?" he forced, keeping the sarcastic, disgusted amusement to his voice. That would hide the anger and disappointment. "The great hero? He's missing the best part."

"Jimmy's out trying to fix some of what you did," Petey answered firmly. "_I'm_ here to tell you that it's over." Like Gary would settle for getting the hand-me-down-lackey.

"It's over when I _say_ it is," he hissed, taking a step forward and watching Petey cower. "Scared of me, femme-boy?" he muttered. "Is that why you brought a bodyguard with you? You _would _get a girl to fight your-"

"Oh, I'm not his bodyguard," Zoe proclaimed, sliding off his desk and standing up. She shook her limbs out and then cracked her knuckles in each hand. "Pete was gonna come here alone. I just tagged along so I could beat the crap outta you for what you did, 'cause I know he won't."

"You're all talk," he spat back at her.

"You'd know," she batted back at him.

"Think I won't hit a girl?" he suggested, squaring off as she walked up to him like she really thought he was going to be intimidated by a girl.

"Wait, Gary-" Petey started.

"Oh fuck _off_," he groaned, giving Petey a shove so that he stumbled away, but without taking his eyes off Zoe – with good reason, too, because she whipped out an arm to punch him. He turned away from it, knocking her back, but she was already throwing another fist, heading for his gut. However, she was only a girl, and he'd had plenty worse beatings, so took the hit barely flinching.

He gave her a push so that she stumbled back, and without hesitation, without questioning the action, he punched her in the face. She gave a piercing scream, and then Petey had thrown himself onto Gary's other arm, jabbering like a chipmunk.

He threw Petey away again, but by then Zoe was standing up straight again, holding one palm over her eye and glaring through the other one. When Gary was about to go for her again, she swung out a foot in heavy boots and kicked him in the leg, sideways across the knee. She kept kicking until his leg gave, then hit him in the neck, forcing him down. As he staggered to the floor she aimed the next boot right for his head. He threw himself down, but it only softened the kick, rather than avoiding it completely.

The floor, however, was _not _a good place to be, and he had a hard toecap in a leg, arm, leg again, his stomach, and then right across his back before Petey got the pacifism brigade rallied again.

"Zoe! Zoe!" he yelped. "That's enough!"

"Piece of shit," she growled, dropping the slurs like she was aiming rocks for his head. "You think I've never been hit by a guy before, huh?" she cooed over him. "You should be grateful I didn't put you in the hospital." She might have been about to kick him again – Gary couldn't tell, but Petey butted in once more.

"Zoe!" he scolded. "Jeesh, you're as bad as Jimmy. I can see why you guys... okay, never mind," he groaned, and then Gary heard his weight lower, like he was kneeling down on the floor. "Oh _hell_," he rushed, "Gary? Are you allri-"

"Get away from me!" he snarled as he felt Petey's hand touch against him, and he dragged his agonised body into motion, pushing himself up and away. "Just a little pain, Petey. Nothing I don't deserve. Are you proud now?" he queried. "Look what you did. You let her come here. Does it make you feel powerful, watching someone else kick the shit out of me on your-"

"Well you hit her!" Petey interjected indignantly. "You actually hit a girl."

"What difference does it make?" he retorted. "Who's on the floor here? In fact, can you _not_ be here?" he barked, looking up at Zoe who was tentatively feeling her face where he'd punched her; he'd had all he could take of her presence, and didn't fancy trying his luck at a fight again. She started for him, but Petey's maternal instinct was in full force because he got between them before she could do anything.

"Zoe, I think it might be best if you did go," he concurred guiltily. "Please, go see the nurse. I'm sorry you got hurt."

"I asked for it, Pete," she admitted openly, "but scum like that deserves what they get."

"Don't you have cum to be swallowing somewhere?" he asked viciously, and she looked like she was about to spit on him, but then Petey was making his stop-sign hands at her.

"Zoe, seriously," he urged. "This isn't helping. Please." He made his puppy eyes until she wavered.

"Fine," she bit. "I'm gonna go ice this, but he better hope he's in a cell when Jimmy finds out."

"I know," Petey murmured. "I didn't think things were gonna... I just... look, seeya later," he encouraged, and Zoe escorted herself out of the room.

"Now did _that_ work out how you planned it?" Gary questioned wryly, sitting up and rubbing the throbbing boot marks across his body.

"No," Petey muttered begrudgingly. "I didn't think she was being _serious_ when she said-" he cut off as Gary sprang up like a weasel out of a trap, flying at Petey and toppling him, pinning his wrists to the floor as he kneeled over, heavy and threatening.

"Now you're going to tell me exactly what you think you're doing, getting in my way like this," he remarked venomously, one knee between Petey's legs.

"Get off, Gary," he said without struggling, without even trying to push him back.

"No," he retorted childishly. "Do you really think this will make Jimmy want you? That saving his precious little reputation will _do_ anything?"

"I don't want... that's not why," Petey told him, voice shallow like he wasn't quite sure of what he was saying. If Gary could just displace those needy feelings, he might get away with it, he reasoned. Give him what he wants from Jimmy and it'd be a close enough second-best.

"Well, Jimmy won't have you, but maybe _someone _will," he decreed, and then he bent at the arms, lowering onto Petey and pressing his mouth over a tightly clenched jaw. It was like trying to kiss a corpse, and about as sexually appealing too. "If you give Crabblesnitch back the letter," he murmured temptingly, "if you _help_ me, I might even fuck you, Petey." Then Petey looked him dead in the eyes, and Gary knew that he might as well be putting on a puppet show.

"This is desperate, even for you," he offered coldly, and Gary raised an eyebrow.

"Sure, but can you blame me for trying?" Petey rolled his eyes, unable to make much else of a gesture.

"Get off," he said again, and this time Gary pulled back. He was sick to his stomach already and it clearly wasn't going to work. So he let the self dragging him up by the shoulders overpower the one pushing him down, and came to sit on the floor, knees bent up, hands resting over his temples.

"_What are you doing? You're letting him go!" _a voice screamed in one of his ears, silent but somehow deafening.

"_You have to stop him, he's going to ruin everything,_" another contributed.

"_Forget it, he's already ruined it,"_ a counter-voice posited. "_He's talked to Crabblesnitch, he's ratted you out."_

"_If they think you're going back on medication again they can go to hell," _another angry, foaming statement lurched out of the back of his mind. He'd _just _gotten clean, it wasn't fair to start him again.

"_Don't let them take you back there_," a terrified, paranoid jitter rose up in his mind.

"_Take Jimmy with you,"_ something hissed back at it. _"Take anyone you can."_

"Gary..." a voice that was _real_, that wasn't one of his, said.

"Just shut up!" he found himself snapping, closing his hands over his hears. "I'm trying to think."

"Gary?" Petey inquired again. "Are... you all right?"

"Why do _you_ care?" he retorted cruelly. "You're quick enough to condemn me. Thank you in advance for putting me through this, Petey. You've really been a pal."

"I haven't... I didn't," Petey jumbled his words together like he had a washing machine inside his head instead of a brain. "I didn't tell Crabblesnitch it was _you_," he blurted finally. "He doesn't know you wrote the letter. I just explained that there were some funny things going on and asked if I could investigate, so he doesn't suspect you of anything... yet."

"Lying to me again, Petey?" he said brashly. "It's becoming quite a habit for you."

"I'm not lying," he protested obtusely. "I wasn't going to tell Crabblesnitch anything if you would just _stop_, but now you've gone and hit Zoe..."

"So? She's not worth anything, like it matters," he dismissed.

"Yes it does!" Petey snapped. "She _does _matter, and not because she's a nice person, or because she cares about Jimmy and wants to protect him, but because she _is_ a person. That means she's worth something. People aren't toys, Gary."

"Oh stop it," he interjected. "You sound like a therapist."

"Then maybe you should _listen _for once," he countered. "You can't keep on doing this, Gary. I tried to stop you and I even tried to protect you from getting in trouble, but you won't let me."

"What do you mean?" he questioned coldly.

"Well if you'd just left it, maybe things would've worked out okay," Petey murmured. "I was hoping it would... I mean, people go through rumours all the time. If Jimmy just _talked_ to everyone, he coulda set things straight, and as long as the teachers stayed out of it... but now," he sighed, crossing his legs like they were holed up for a friendly chat, not a confrontation. "Even Crabblesnitch has to get involved after this." He eyed Gary like he'd been found trying to plant a bomb in someone's locker.

"Oh no," he deadpanned. "Whatever will I do."

"I don't know, Gary, I really _don't_," he mumbled. "I didn't want this to happen."

"Well neither did I," he retorted, "so everyone's unhappy." Except for Jimmy, of course. He always got what he wanted.

"You can't keep on like this," Pete lectured. "It's only going to get worse, I don't know what they're gonna do to you this time."

"Who cares," he said with a shrug. "So I have to start _again_," he continued with a resentful flash of anger at Petey. "I'm not going to stop. Not until I get Jimmy."

"Then... then you're just going to keep on messing up your own life!" Petey burst, like the anger and emotion shot out of him through a pressure-release valve. "One day, Gary, you're going to do something you can't recover from."

"Like you care."

"I do!"

"_Why?" _he drove the question like a stake into his chest. Who really cared about him? After what he'd done, after all he'd put Petey through. Not that he _wanted_ them to care – not that he cared about any of _them_ – but he simply didn't see the reasoning.

"Because you're just... just ruining everything," he fumbled for words. "You're never going to get what you want."

"You think I can't beat Jimmy?" he questioned like he was honestly surprised. "You think that _I _can't beat that half-witted Neanderthal?"

"I know you can't," Petey answered him like he thought he was a quiz-show host, answers in the palm of his hand.

"Oh, you _know_?" he parodied. "Pray tell why."

"I'll tell you why," he enforced. "It's because you're _wrong."_ Gary realised he'd pulled a face, but he was actually thrown by the statement.

"Wrong?" he echoed. "About what?"

"Not _about_ anything. Just what you do: it's wrong." Gary was silent for a full ten seconds, staring at Petey like he'd announced the official existence of werewolves and aliens.

"No," he said at last, the word coming smooth and secretively, slipping from his mouth. "You really... you're honestly telling me the reason I can't win is because I'm _wrong_?"

"Just what you're trying to do. That's why Jimmy beats you," he corrected.

"Because, let me guess," he continued with a sickened tone, "Jimmy's _right_, is he? He's the hero, the golden boy. Saving the day at the last."

"It's not like that," Pete interjected. "Even if he does it in a kinda crappy way, Jimmy's usually trying to do the right thing."

"Stop it, you're making me sick," Gary ordered. "There's no such thing as right and wrong in this world, Petey. It's just a load of bullshit made up by morons."

"Then carry on trying," he challenged, "but you're going to fail."

"Of course," he mocked. "Because morality reigns supreme in the world?"

"You're taking it... it's not like... look, if you try to hurt people and do bad things, someone is going to stop you," he explained at last, forcing the words out like bone through a sausage grinder.

"You really think so, Petey?" said Gary ominously, and then glanced down at the floor where he'd recently had him pinned. "You think anyone would've stopped me there?"

"I don't think you would've done anything," Petey replied coolly, not wavering in his usual waifish way.

"Aren't you sure of yourself?" he teased.

"You like _girls_," he pointed out.

"And that's a reason I _wouldn't_ go for you, femme-boy?" He grinned maliciously, enjoying each small pop for what it was, even though at the back of his mind, he knew that the ground was sinking from underneath him. It didn't seem real, not yet. He'd worked so hard, put so much effort into preparing this plan, that he didn't believe _Petey_ could stop it.

"Shut up," Petey nagged. "It's over, Gary. Accept it."

"No," he declined politely. "I think I'll hang on a little longer."

"You're just gonna make it worse for yourself," Petey warned. "If you go to the teachers now, maybe you can-"

"Go to the teachers? For what?!" he burst. "You do talk some crap from time to time, Petey. If you want me in Crabblesnitch's office, your best bet is to push me through that fucking skylight again."

"Why can't you just _stop_?" Petey entreated.

"Because I have nothing left!" Gary found himself shouting. "Because beating Jimmy is the only thing I have," he spouted, "he rounded everyone up like sheep so that I have literally nothing else to do!" He hadn't meant to let the truth slip from him like that, but if it helped convince Petey, that was justification enough.

"There has to be more," Petey mumbled. "You can't live like this."

"How would you know, it's not your life," he snarled, noticing that Petey was giving him the invalid look again. "What?" he hurled, spewing the words like poison darts.

"Have... you stopped taking your medication again?" he questioned meekly, already knowing the answer.

"Of course," he said with a cruel laugh. "The question is _when_, not _whether_, Petey. I stopped weeks ago."

"What?" That he sounded genuinely surprised was nice, because it meant he'd been composed enough without them to make even Petey think he had to be on them still.

"I've been clean for weeks, Petey," he rephrased. "Before then I was only taking half as much as I'm meant to."

"But I saw you taking-"

"At lunch. I never took my morning dose," he interjected.

"Wh... oh," he said with a confused mumble. "Not ever?"

"No," he replied dryly. "Not since the first week of term." They'd had plenty of morning classes together, and Petey was smart enough to know the implications of that.

"But... you're so... you've been... _okay... _ish," he said unsurely, like he didn't think that was quite the right word for it, but he couldn't think of anything else.

"Don't be a tool like the rest of them, Petey," he growled. "You want me to be all tweaked out and angry without meds? Fine, you got it." Then he lashed a hand over to Petey's collar, grabbing a fistful of his shirt and trying to push him over. "I can get good and angry if that conforms to your expectations of how I'm meant to act," he hissed, struggling against Petey as he resisted movement. "_Crazy_ Gary Smith, right," he snarled, letting his temper loose. "I really must compliment those double standards, Petey. They're a special piece of work. I'm damned no matter what I do and Jimmy's excused no matter what _he_ does. What makes you think we're so dissimilar? Why is it that it's _wrong_ to get Jimmy put on meds and shut away, and when it's me it's a fucking crime _not _to be medicated?"

"Gary, I didn't mean it like-"

"That's the implication," he spat. "Am I really so insane for wanting to make Jimmy experience just a taste of what it's like on the other side? For wanting to knock the pedestal out from under him because he's not half the saint everyone thinks he is. I don't understand why _no one else sees this!"_ he rose into a scream, realising that he'd taken a two-hand hold on Petey and was shaking him like some kind of lunatic, which sort of undermined his point. He let go of him like a sandbag, pushing him back and retreating a little.

"Gary, I..." he started.

"Fuck off, Petey," he said quietly. "Just... go away."

"I didn't think," he rushed, "I'm sorr-"

"No!" he shouted before Petey could finish the word. "Don't you _dare_ fucking apologise to me. I don't want your pity. Just leave me alone," he hissed. "I don't care any more."

"Gary, I think you should-" Again, he didn't finish this sentence, because Gary had moved and grabbed him by the collar again.

"You have two choices, femme-boy," he said like he wanted to drop the words entirely and just press a kitchen knife right against his neck. "You can leave or I can hurt you. Don't ask me which one I'd prefer." Petey stumbled back as Gary released his collar. If his little fluffy nose could twitch, it would be going mad, sensing the danger in the air, the pervading fumes of threat and anger. And if Gary could smother people with intent, Petey would have long since passed out.

"Ok-kay, Gary," he said with a tell-tale stutter. "I'll go, if that's what you really want."

"Don't even saythose words around me," he glowered; as if he ever had what he really wanted, not any more. "Just get out." He knew Petey probably had more to say – he'd hardly shut up since Gary had walked in. Naturally, he'd have more wisdom to offer about the differences between right and wrong, why Jimmy was so special, and reasons he ought to hand himself to Crabblesnitch with a checklist of prescriptions, but one more word and Gary was going to lose his shit irrevocably, and Petey wasn't stupid enough not to see the signs. So he left, rather than set him off big time, and Gary was left alone like he'd requested.

For a while, after the door had shut he just stood there, frozen in the same pose he'd let go of Petey in, like he'd lost the power to move. Then with a slow, laborious drag he worked himself into motion, clutching for his pack of cigarettes, lighting one before he was even at the window. There was still a butt on the table, stabbed out where Zoe had left it, but he didn't touch or move the thing, just let it lie as he slumped against the window sill, breathing long, quiet breaths into the early evening air.

It didn't feel real, even though he had bruises rising where Zoe had kicked him. He couldn't quite believe that Petey of all people had foiled him, refused to accept it. Petey _couldn't_ have stopped him without raising a fist, without a fight. It wasn't possible.

Even so, his paranoia wouldn't go to rest, and he'd _seen_ the letter in Petey's hand; that was a setback, a serious one, so he spent the rest of the night devising how to work around it. By the morning he was tired, fraught and his attention had been pinballing around so fast he had no idea if he'd made progress or not. He went to class purely to get out of his room, the four walls closing in on him by the minute, until it was like he'd been folded up into a matchbox. However, he'd only just made it into the main building when he heard a shout.

"GARY!" the voice of J. Hopkins bellowed, and Gary turned to see Jimmy charging across the lobby at him; in the part of his mind that wasn't occupied with Jimmy's onset, he noticed Zoe at the back of the room, a spectacular purple bruise over one of her eyes. Chances were, he reasoned, Jimmy had noted the addition to her face this morning, and was not especially pleased about her new look.

"Now Jimmy," he started, holding up his hands, on the way to explaining that Jimmy's partner in crime had in fact _done_ far more damage than she received. Except Jimmy's fist connected with his open jaw so hard he felt it click. He made a feral noise and instinctively grabbed for his face, flinching away to recover for a second before he retaliated; however, Jimmy wasn't about to give him the shot, and punched Gary again in the arm, then followed with yet another that connected with his nose, bringing some unpleasant noises and a quantity of blood out of it.

"Think you can hit a girl, do you?!" Jimmy snarled as he came at Gary so fast and hard he couldn't even think about fighting back. Before he knew it Jimmy had grabbed him by the sweater and thrust him to the floor, landing heavily on top of him and punching again and again at his face. For a brief, thankful moment he stopped, almost choking Gary with a firm grip around the collar and then yanking him up off his back.

"You got a problem with me, you come and fight _me_ about it. You do _not,"_ he slammed Gary back down onto the floor, his head cracking against the floor, "_ever_," he punched him in the jaw, "_EVER_," a harder punch, this time in the neck, "attack someone I care about! Is that fucking clear?!" he bellowed, and by then a prefect had charged up and attempted to pull Jimmy off him. For once Gary was _glad _to see one of the blue blazers, but Jimmy shook out of the hold like an animal and didn't stop hitting him. As the blows rained down, too disorientated to even know what was going on, his vision began to swim.

By the time two more prefects rushed up to forcibly pull Jimmy off him, still cursing and kicking, the world around him was slowly but surely turning black. As Jimmy's threatening abuse turned to gibberish, the five senses faded away from Gary, sinking him into darkness.


	15. Watching the tide go out

When Gary woke up, he tried to open his eyes and found it was too painful. That was not an especially good sign. After a while he heard someone moving around the room, then hands closed over his arm. Keeping him still for a needle – another one, going by the ache. Great, now he probably had hepatitis as well.

"Get off me," he tried to say, but his voice was mangled and broken, almost unrecognisable.

"Stay still," he heard the scolding tone of Nurse McRae. "It's a painkiller, Smith. You at least accept _those_, don't you?" Whether he took them or not seemed irrelevant, because a needle stuck his arm and he felt the debilitating rush of drugs through his system. Without the screaming, stabbing pain all over his body, he managed to open his eyes, but his vision was blurry, so he closed them again. This was the worst beating yet – worse than the greasers, worse than the roof even. That hurt his pride more than his body.

With the boost of drugs, he slept most of the day, but he knew that would only delay the inevitable confrontation. He couldn't face Jimmy right now, not like this. It'd taken a whole summer and then some before he could even look at Jimmy last time, and this was going to be worse.

He couldn't delay it forever, and after a day of stalling he was expected to drink his orange-coloured juice, pull together his face, which he hadn't dared look at yet, and then drag his corpse to the Headmaster's office.

"Ahh, Smith, you're here _at last_," Dr. Crabblesnitch announced with his usual hauteur, and Gary didn't even bother to look at him. He was more concerned by Jimmy sitting in the other chair, giving him looks that actually made Crabblesnitch's presence a welcome thing.

"Hey, good looking," taunted Jimmy, and Gary couldn't bring himself to suffer the discomfort to answer him.

"Shut up, Hopkins, you're responsible for this!" Crabblesnitch snapped, and his tone was far fromfriendly. Gary realised with a sting of redemption that Jimmy wasn't here to gloat, that he was in trouble as well. There was actually a chance that things were going to go through the way he wanted. So he slumped into his chair and bothered to look at Crabblesnitch.

"Now, it seems I can't have the two of you in the same place without _something_ going wrong," he began austerely, "so I'm going to make this brief. Firstly, the hitting of girls is completely unacceptable at Bullworth, _Smith, _and giving Zoe Taylor a black eye is perhaps one of the stupidest things that you have done at this Academy, which I think speaks for itself. You are lucky she has no parents to press charges. In addition, I'm also led to believe you have not been taking your medication as you so devotedly promised me you would at the start of the year, which will also be looked into. And as for _you_, Hopkins..." Gary's mood picked up again, although that was only from a point of complete desolation to mild desolation.

"Although more acceptable as part of wholesome school spirit, the beating of _boys _beyond facial reconition is also frowned upon at Bullworth, _especially_ when you do it in a public place. From what I've been hearing, your behaviour has become rather irrational of late and the student body no longer appreciates your vigilante spirit around the playground. Stop _smiling, _Smith," he snapped, and then hesitantly added, "is that smiling? I'm not quite sure." Gary was realising that he looked as bad as he felt. However, Crabblesnitch wasn't done yet.

"I could had you both arrested, but I feel you've attracted enough negative publicity to the Academy and I'm quite fed up of having the police investigate our... uh, affairs. So, my solution to this, gentlemen – as you clearly cannot be trusted loose in this school by yourselves – is to ask our good friends at_ Happy Volts_ to manage these behavioural problems until you two learn to get along like good little boys. You may both consider yourselves _suspended_ until such a time as you are ready to reintegrate. Given that you have both been expelled and granted clemency once before, I feel this is an extremely generous gesture on my part."

"WHAT_?"_ Jimmy yelled, shooting up from his seat. "You're sending _me_ to that looney bin?!"

"The last time I checked, James, beating a fellow student until they resemble the rear end of a monkey is not on the list of acceptable practice. You have anger management issues, young man, and you'll straighten them out before we welcome you back to Bullworth," Crabblesnitch lectured,

"Wh... _that's_ my anger management problem!" Jimmy retorted, pointing at Gary. "He hitmy girl in the face! He's been wanting to get at me since the year started, and if he just wanted to rail at me, Sir, I guess he's entitled, but he went for anyone who ever gave a shit about me here. If you think you can punish me for protecting the people who've stuck by me, then you can with all due respect go _fuck yourself_." There was a moment of silence, and then Miss Danvers came in with a tray of tea, setting it noisily on the table and leaving without anyone else murmuring so much as a word. Crabblesnitch rifled through a pile of papers and set one on the top like it was important.

"You know, Hopkins," he remarked neutrally, "I wasn't sure if I believed all of what I heard about your _issues_, but I think you've quite convinced me otherwise." He signed the top form and slipped it into a folder no doubt plump with Gary's paperwork trail. His smugness radiated like a lighthouse beacon. "There will be some orderlies to collect you shortly," he announced, "I've left the task of closing up your rooms and preparing your bags for Happy Volts to the Head Boy. Who, might I add, has been of great service to _both _of you throughout this ordeal." Gary could guess that Pete tried to plea both their cases, though if _this _was the compromise he must not have tried very hard. He'd be sure to thank Pete for all his so-called 'help'.

It was only when he saw the van that it really struck home. A grubby stencil on the side of a truck confirming that he was going back there, but this time without a get out of jail free card. Two orderlies ready to take him away and put him back in the box. The worst part was that he'd gotten what he wanted; Jimmy _was_ going to Happy Volts, Gary was just going alongside him to watch the show.

It was a Pyrrhic victory, and worse yet, Jimmy didn't seem bothered – he grinned inanely at the orderlies as he took his seat in the back of the truck, like he couldn't believe it was real. He slumped across from Gary, trying to stare him out, though Gary wouldn't meet his eyes, he couldn't bear to. This whole thing was like a wish from a monkey's paw.

As the truck shunted and shifted on the road, he felt something curl up and wither, down underneath the benches. A self who knew too well what it was like at Happy Volts, and who wasn't brave or angry. He kept his mouth stitched closed, because he couldn't trust that voice not to slip out instead.

"Well, here we are," Jimmy commented obnoxiously. "Is this what you wanted? Happy now?" Gary didn't respond, didn't dignify him with a response, but that seemed to unnerve Jimmy more than anything he could've said. "What are we in for here, Gary?" he pestered, but again Gary said nothing, just peered up at Jimmy through the sickly artificial light. "At least fucking _say_ something," he snapped.

"Scared, Jimmy?" he murmured the first hoarse words of the day, escaping bruised and split lips.

"No," he bit guiltily, like he knew he was lying to himself. Gary wasn't going to mock him – he had every right to be scared. He'd been inside the asylum before, but now Jimmy was on the _other _side, washed up with the lost and condemned souls. Gary's self curled up at the front of the truck was growing smaller and smaller by the minute, slowly fading away.

"Why couldn't you have done something different?" Jimmy questioned. "Why'd you have to go for everyone _else, _insteada me?" Gary shrugged. So Jimmy continued. "You went for anyone who'd been nice to me. Gary. Only thing they'd ever done was be my friends."

He snorted, half-amused by Jimmy's false sense of morality. Now he could talk about maryterdom, but offer him a trade to put someone else in his seat and Gary didn't kid himself about what Jimmy would choose.

"If they expect me to say I'm sorry for doing that to you, they can get lost," he spouted, and Gary let slip a raw chuckle of amusement. "What?"

"That's not what they want," he murmured with his gravelled voice, his sore mouth.

"Then what?" Jimmy asked.

"They want you to let go of who you are," he declared, then sighed with the exertion.

"Yeah right," Jimmy scoffed. "You're just trying to freak me out." It hurt to smile, but Gary did it anyway.

"You'll see," he answered cryptically. After all, Jimmy might have been in and out of Happy Volts more often than he had, but _he'd_ been a patient, even if only for a few hours. He had more than enough experience of _corrective_ facilities, and this one could only be worse than the lot.

They got to the asylum and an orderly jostled them out of the truck. Jimmy played at resisting to start with, but only needed to see a hypodermic a grand total of _once_ before he backed down. They were shipped through the lobby; registered, tagged and assigned like meat going through a slaughterhouse, then were parted at the first corridor, lest they pose a threat to one another.

Something had been left back in the truck, some part of Gary that hadn't mattered at first. It was only when he walked past the Watcher that he realised what was missing. As he was shown to a cell and the lock slid closed behind him, he know what, or _who_, it was. The fighter: the one who was ready to hiss, spit and kick at anyone trying to make him do what he didn't want to do. It'd been left behind, had shrunk away.

What was the point in trying to fight when he had nothing to do? He'd struggled before because he had plans, because he had a vengeance to keep with Jimmy. Now he'd gained his victory at the cost of mutual destruction. He'd run out of energy. Apathy had pervaded him like poison, so all he did was get down on his cot and sleep.

He slept without disturbance, until deep in the night when the cell was darkened and silent, like a sunken chest in a deep ocean. He opened his eyes as nauseous greenish light shone behind the cell door, hints of a moon illuminated vague shapes out of the window. They'd let him sleep through meals, through the inevitable assessment that was going to come.

"Why aren't you scared?" a self asked him, hidden in the darkness. Without light the projections _could_ be real, there was no sight to disprove that they were or weren't there.

"What do I have to be scared of?" he replied, using his rusted voice in the echoing cell.

"Are you kidding?" he returned bluntly.

"I don't care what happens to me any more," he sighed.

"That's it? You _don't care_?" he baited himself. "How does that make you fearless?"

"Before I was scared of what they'd do to me," he explained dryly, and then punctuated it with a shrug. "Now that fear is gone."

"So you've given up?" the self questioned, grasping to accommodate the lost something.

"I suppose," he murmured. "Jimmy's here, isn't he? Why would I want to get out when there's nothing on the outside for me?"

"It's better than in _here_," he pointed out to himself.

"Sure," he conceded. "But if they want me to stay here, I can't be bothered to argue any more."

"There's people out there," he tempted himself. "More victims, more chances."

"Why," he started with a long, overdue sigh, "would I bother? This was _it_," he explained. "I only just pulled it off." The darkness of the room, he realised, wasn't coming from the time of day or lack of light; it was from _him_, from a deep, endless pit in his chest, a black hole that was sucking everything up, blinding him with absence of light.

"That's not all of it," the projection pointed out – or perhaps this was another one, hiding in another shadow. "You've let go."

"Yeah," he conceded to the shadows. "I'm done."

"Why?"

"Because I can't do this any more," he said dully, putting hands over his face, then through his hair. "I can't." In his mind, like before, it should have worked perfectly. The plan was meant to work, according to his understanding of the world, and it had fallen apart. The only answer was that Pete had been right – that he was always going to lose to Jimmy in one way or another. If he couldn't win, he wasn't going to try.

Nothing added up any more. Jimmy didn't attack him for trying to ruin his reputation, he attacked him – blind on rage – because he'd hurt Zoe. Jimmy had got himself put in Happy Volts as if defending her mattered that much to him. Then there was Petey, who in spite of everything Gary had ever done to him, still held back information from Crabblesnitch and let Jimmy take part of the blame. Who tried to help without being asked, without even letting Gary know. When he had no reason to do it, because if Gary were in _his _position he certainly wouldn't.

Subtly, his grip on the world was slipping out from underneath him like sand on a shore. Except he hadn't the heart to try and hang on. He let it slide, let the land fall away. He didn't need it in here;_ i_n here it was a positive bonus to have no grasp of reality.

By morning he had a breakfast of pills and assessments waiting for him, but let his mind run on auto-pilot and the events barely touched him. He swallowed his pills, pushed around his breakfast, then let himself be shunted into the doctor's office for proper admission.

"Ah," the doctor began. "You're Smith." He shrugged, as it would undoubtedly be written on his chart and he didn't see why he had to answer inane rhetoric.

The meeting was formulaic as always. He said as little as possible, bar the one difference in that he agreed to take his meds without objection. A better doctor might have looked at his record and wondered where the change came from, but this was Happy Volts, and they didn't question a good thing when they had one. The most the doctor did was push his glasses up his nose at Gary and scribble some spider-crawl notes onto the top sheet of his ever-growing file.

Gary was allowed to go back to his room for a while after that, but by mid-afternoon all residents who were deemed to be safe were obliged to go to one of the communal areas and interact with one another, for the benefit of all or something like that. Gary didn't really care, just found a sofa at the back and lay down, staring up at the ceiling and closing his eyes. If he concentrated on cultivating sleep he could almost bring it down by will. The more he slept the more tired he would feel, even when he was back on meds. He was drifting between the boundaries of consciousness when a rousing cry disturbed him from his rest.

"Gary!" His name sounded, and he wondered why they'd let Jimmy mingle in the same area as him – weren't they meant to keep them apart? "There you are." Somehow, even in patients' scrubs Jimmy still looked like himself. "Oh, were you sleeping?" he gabbed like his mouth had been set on free-for-all. Gary lifted only one eyelid to look at him, then lowered it again. He was still too bruised to be comfortable. "What is this, the silent treatment?" Jimmy jeered.

"Why are you talking to me?" he questioned, opening both eyes with great exertion to look at him.

"Because you're the only guy I know in this damn place," Jimmy answered bluntly. "It amazes me to say it, but you're probably one of the least crazy people in here. So I figured I'd say hi," he finished sarcastically, then noticed Gary's indifference. "Are you on some new meds or something? Why're you laying there like a sack of shit?"

"No new meds," he answered wanly. "No new anything. Why are you still talking?" he asked once more.

"Uh... I just explained," Jimmy said suspiciously. "What's wrong with you?"

"Nothing," Gary answered flatly, draping an arm over his face, then moving it when he realised he still couldn't touch anything to the bruising. "I'm just _peachy_, Jimmy."

"By this point I was figuring you'd already have an escape plan," he muttered, hushing his breath as if the very walls were listening. As if anyone who overheard them was sane enough to know what they were talking about.

"No," he revealed. "I don't."

"Why not?" Jimmy shot. "You taken a shine to this place and decided to move in full time?"

"I'll be here as long as they want," he replied, bringing the words up with so much effort it exhausted him. "I'm under observation for now."

"What does _that_ mean?"

"That means if I carry on taking my pills and behaving, they'll let me go soon. Or something," he deliberated. "Who cares." It wasn't a question.

"Who cares?" Jimmy echoed like he couldn't believe what he was hearing. "Don't you want _out_ of this place?" Gary made a non-committal, uninterested move. "What?" Jimmy barked. "Come on, Gary. Drop the act."

"What act?" he breathed. "I don't particularly care if they discharge me or not."

"The hell you _don't particularly care_?!" Jimmy snapped, his voice drawing the eyes of orderlies, so that he had to stamp the tone back down under his cheap, thin-soled shoes.

"Here, there... what difference does it make?" Gary suggested idly, examining the ceiling with more interest than the conversation. He found if he thought about it hard enough, he could almost convince himself the world was restricted to this single room, that outside these walls there was nothing but an empty vacuum of pure white. It became a comforting thought.

"The... you-" Jimmy stuttered, exasperated. "You're screwing with me," he proclaimed at last. "This is a trick."

"It is?" Gary remarked with mild surprise. "You really can't make up your mind about me, can you? Friend one minute and foe the next."

"Yeah, well, I ain't got much choice in here," Jimmy muttered. "You remember when we first met? The first time? And you said something to me about needing friends."

"I said in a place like this, you're gonna need friends," he murmured distantly, eyes shut and rolling the over the words like old familiars.

"Yeah, well, _now _I believe you. So there it is," Jimmy summarised. "In here, we're friends."

"I'm not your friend, Jimmy," he said with a slow, peaceful breath, trying to slow his heartbeat down by pure will.

"Sure you are, now get up," he bossed, grabbing for one of Gary's arms and trying to pull him upright. He didn't struggle, but let his body hang as if it were dead; an unwieldy weight to lug around. "Suit yourself!" he huffed, letting Gary go again so that he could flop back down.

"You got any cigarettes left?" he asked only moments later, clearly not intending to give up any time soon. Gary made the same, indifferent shrugging gesture. "C'mon, you smoke like a goddam chimney, you gotta have some."

"I think they took them off me at the desk," he theorised, wondering how the orderlies managed their time dilation effect. These few minute had surely been hours.

"So let's go find them," Jimmy cajoled, but Gary didn't stir. "Seriously?" he pushed. "You don't wanna smoke? Not even a _little_?"

"Not enough to get up and look for them," he concluded.

"God, you sound pathetic," Jimmy cussed. "Why not?"

"It isn't worth it," Gary explained without really caring what Jimmy thought of it any more.

"Well what _is_ worth it, huh Gary?" A question with a golden tag. Gary opened his eyes through the pain to look at Jimmy, and for the first time in a long while, he wasn't angry. He'd been numbed to it, and could stare straight into Jimmy's eyes without seeing anything. Just a set of ordinary-coloured irises and small, scared pupils.

"I'm so glad you asked," he said with a tinge of sarcasm, twitching the corner of his mouth instead of smiling. "Nothing, Jimmy. Nothing matters."


	16. Turning Invisible

When he really _applied _himself to a task, Gary often – but not always – got his way. So when he applied himself to letting go, it was surprisingly easy to release the concepts of time and place like paper boats downstream.

It was easy to stop wondering what day it was, what time, what was happening or what would happen next. He'd sleep, eat – in and out – without focusing on how long or late anything ran. It was almost relaxing to not know these things, because if he ignored their existence, to what extent did they actually exist? It got dark and light, the food they were given was changed, but really, that was easy enough to control. They could be giving him breakfast at 6pm and he'd be no wiser, but why would it matter anyway? It was only food, and he didn't have much interest in it as it was. Pushing the same variants of slop around a tray for a while three times a day. Whatever a day was anyway.

The only thing that really stuck out, that made his attention catch, was Jimmy, because he not only refused to let the asylum control him, but he pestered Gary whenever he could. After a while Jimmy had realised he wouldn't respond to anything he said, so he started to hold one-sided conversations with Gary during the 'social' hours. In-depth, _personal_ conversations that involved far too much detail about what Jimmy had or hadn't done with almost half the student body. Gary tried to tune it out, and certainly didn't respond. The only conversations Gary did have were with himself, and even they were less and less in frequency.

"So they're trying to put me on this _mood regulator_ or something," Jimmy said to him once – he couldn't say when, or even what day, but that was his preference. Not to be aware. "I told them to go fuck themselves and that my mood is just fine, but apparently reactions like that are 'symptomatic' of why I need drugs." He huffed, stacking up dominoes and building them into towers, then knocking them down. They didn't play games together. Well, apart from the one time Gary beat him. He didn't want to play again after that.

"I keep telling them I don't need any damn meds, but whatever, apparently I don't know what's good for me," Jimmy grumbled, and then noticed Gary eyeing him across the table. Because he didn't really speak, Jimmy had started paying attention to his expressions, picking them up with unusual speed. "What?" he snapped, knowing the look meant he'd said something amusing and or stupid.

"Where've I heard that before?" Gary murmured quietly, hands resting bonelessly over his legs. He didn't fidget much any more, not now pills went down him like clockwork. His voice was stiff, as if it needed dusting.

"What? Finally open your mouth and... oh," Jimmy fell away, realising it was Gary who had been holding this flag long before him. "Yeah, well..." he paused, trying to say the things he would've before – that Gary deserved meds and he didn't – that it was somehow _different _between them. Except he couldn't even conjure those lies any more.

"All right, point taken," Jimmy relinquished, staring at his dominoes before suddenly smashing them off the table. "This is crap!" he yelled at no one in particular. Gary recognised Jimmy's defeat all too well, but he'd lost the ability to enjoy it.

"I keep on telling them it's _your_ bastard fault I got put in here," Jimmy continued, "and all they say is that I was the one who smashed you up, so I did this to myself. But _you_ put me away in this hellhole," he snarled, grabbing more dominoes and throwing them across the table at Gary, "and all you fucking do is sit there staring at me like you're brain dead!"

Gary heaved a sigh, and pulled his mouth tight in the shadows of a smile. It'd been long enough that his injuries were healing up, but he still couldn't rest on his face in certain places.

"Well, what's so fucking funny to you?!" Jimmy snarled, reading the smirk off Gary's face. He'd jumped up in his seat, slamming more dominoes around with his big paws, and the orderlies took offense to his behaviour and started to close in.

"You know, Jimmy," Gary announced scratchily, as the men in scrubs grabbed Jimmy by the arms and jostled him back into his chair, hissing threats and sharp words. "That's exactly what _I_ said."

"Wh-" Jimmy started too loud, then dimmed his voice like a light. "What?" he asked more tentatively.

"When I was here the first time," he explained laboriously. "I told them it was _your_ fault. Do you know what they said?" he questioned, tipping his head to one side, both already knowing the answer. Jimmy had been hearing these words all through his counseling. The shifted blame back onto the individual. "I did it to myself."

Jimmy said nothing. Right now, he was in the same position Gary had been at the end of last year; imprisoned against his will, _not _being sorry for what he'd done, and it feeling like someone else's fault he was here. Even his refusal to let the system beat him down was the same – it was _all_ exactly the same. Jimmy Hopkins was in shoes marked G. Smith. And now he'd realised it.

"Gary..." he started gingerly, the words going on expedition from his mouth with a timid nervousness. His brows were crossed like he'd never thought so hard in his life. Gary looked him in the eyes, meaning he was listening. It was the only indication he gave. "I'm sorry, okay?" he offered, and Gary could have sworn he was imagining it.

"For what?" he said blithely.

"For all of this," Jimmy explained. "For putting you through it. I didn't... look, I'm just sorry, all right?"

"Why apologise?" he questioned, looking up around the room. "After all, I did it to myself, didn't I? That's what we've established."

"_No_," Jimmy hissed, grinding the words between his teeth like hard candy. "Screw that. _Screw_ what they say. I put you in here, so you put bothof us in here. Eye for an eye, or some shit like that. We're even."

"If you say so," he answered dully, letting his eyes slide down and back open in a slow, long blink.

"What the fuck is wrong with you?!" he spat. "I just apologised to you for all that madness and hell you created, and you've got nothing to say?!"

"Correct, Jimmy," he echoed. "I have nothing to say."

"Well... why the fuck not?!"

"Because there's nothing worth saying," he answered cryptically, letting the logic roll around in perfect circles.

"What is this, some kind of Zen? Why don't you care about anything?" Jimmy pressed, determined to catch his answer, and Gary was aware of the orderlies who were keeping close watch over them.

"Because I don't have to," he replied wearily. He'd have a nap after social hours closed. Any time spent unconscious was a bonus these days.

"That doesn't make any sense," Jimmy said in frustration. "What, have you lost the will to live or something?" That would perk up the ears of orderlies; no one liked a suicide on their record.

"No," he answered dutifully, assuaging the watchful eye that he wasn't going to attempt to repaint his cell in shades of crimson. "I just don't see the point." Jimmy stared at him blankly, and with a sigh he forced himself to continue. "I had willpower when I had things to _do_," he explained. "Now," he lumbered on, "I'm empty; I'm just coasting. The only thing I was carrying on for was getting revenge on you, Jimmy, and now I've done it. So that's it."

"You..." Jimmy seemed exasperated. "Yunno, I might've said before that you were crazy and needed to be put away, but I reckon this is the _last_ place you oughta be right now."

"It doesn't matter where I am," Gary replied. "Here, the school, what's the difference?"

"There's loads of differences!" he blurted, but Gary shrugged.

"Freedom is only useful when there's things you want to do," he remarked, then leaned back and looked up at the ceiling.

"What about... well, what about girls, huh? You saying you'd rather stay here than get out and get laid? What about Lola, or whoever else it is you wanna fuck?" Jimmy offered like this was really the best he had.

Gary shrugged again; nothing varied any more, all food ash, all drinks plain. The same apathy and indifference pervaded everything. He didn't _want_ to interact with the world any more, though that didn't make him suicidal. Suicide would probably be too much work, when he could carry on like this for nothing.

"Jesus christ, Gary," Jimmy murmured forebodingly. "You really _are_ losing it."

It occurred to Gary that he could say something cutting and sarcastic, like 'how good of you to notice', but there was no point, so he kept his mouth shut and stared off into the distance, waiting for a bell to ring that marked his release from the circus.

However, their conversation didn't fall on deaf ears, because the next morning Gary was called up for an assessment with the same doctor he'd seen before, asking how he was 'managing' and if he felt he was ready to return to school.

He didn't disguise his thoughts – no reason to – and explained why there was no point in anything, why the world was vacant. When the medical man asked him what had changed, the only thing he could say was that he'd finally opened his eyes. Nothing had changed, he just saw things as they were now.

They let him go after that, but of course, they had to come back with a new flavour of diagnosis. ADD wasn't enough for them – not now that he'd pacified, so they had to find something _else_ wrong with him. So many days of observation, and he was drawn into a room and told all about depression; he would've laughed, maybe, if he still did things like that.

He knew about depression, he'd even sampled some of their meds. _Psychotic depression_, they said, potentially going back a long time, all the way to last year. As if it explained _everything_ – two words that sumarised all his problems and actions. As if it made you mentally ill to realise the futility of the world. But in case he wanted to protest, the doctor told him he'd also been heard talking to himself in his cell, speaking to delusions and auditory hallucinations.

He could've said that they weren't real – that he _knew_ they weren't real, but the energy to object failed him; trying to explain himself to doctors had never worked before, so why would it work now? Sometimes he treated the voices as real, so maybe he _was_ psychotic – again, what difference did it make?

They started talking about treatment options, and how his parents were going to have to get involved, in order to give consent. This was Happy Volts, after all, and even _they_ had to jump some hoops before they started ECT on a minor. Electro-convulsive therapy had been shown to _help_ patients with this diagnosis, they insisted. He would feel better afterwards; he'd stop hearing things and would realise there _was _purpose in life, letting go of his nihilistic delusions.

What delusions? He wanted to ask. If they devoted an entire area of philosophy to it, there was probably some credit to the theory that everything was fucking pointless.

They were still fitting him for a brand new personality-suit when Jimmy went and got in the way again. It was a generic meal-time, which meant being around other people again, which by extension meant Jimmy acting like they were the best of friends and not enemies.

"Smith," an orderly called his name as they filed along the food-line. "Nurses' window." He collected his food, then carried onto the dispensary, collecting his paper cup all full of new pills. He looked at it the same way he regarded his juice, and went back to a table. Jimmy was a few seats over, and as soon as Gary was settled he moved up next to him.

"What the hell's all that?" he asked crudely, looking in the cup. He knew what Gary's usual meds looked like.

"Who knows," Gary answered with a shrug. "Anti-depressants, anti-psychotics, multivitamins, _candy_..."

"_What_?" Jimmy barked. "Why in hell are they giving you those? You're not depressed, are you?"

"Psychotically so," he answered drolly, and picked up the cup. He was already taking meds for one thing, why draw a line? Before he could bring it to his mouth, though, thick, hammy fingers closed around his wrist.

"No, Gary," Jimmy ordered, holding his hand back. "This has gone far enough." Gary didn't try to fight him – he was never going to _fight_ to take medication, but he kept his hand there, locking eyes with Jimmy.

"What else am I meant to do?" he suggested flatly.

"You fucking _snap out of it!"_ Jimmy snarled, and then snatched the pill cup and threw it across the room. That kick-started a revolution. By the time the orderlies were on him, patients all across the canteen were throwing their pills around.

That evening tension was running extremely high, with plenty of missed doses and unstable patients jittering around. It was enough that they cancelled the social hours, confining everyone to their rooms as they tried to play catch-up on medication.

"Jimmy's done what you wouldn't," a self remarked to Gary; slumped against the cell door, empty and shapeless.

"What's that?" he questioned aloud. They thought he was psychotic anyway, so he might as well talk openly to the only company he had in here.

"He started trouble, caused a riot practically," he explained, speaking the other half aloud as well. A two-sided conversation with himself.

"Mine was better though," he remarked with a slight twist of his lips. A remembrance of something before the world went grey.

"You could show him how a real one's done," he suggested.

"Why?" he sighed a moment later. "I can't be bothered."

"It might be fun," he said; strangely liberating to speak in this way, to be both parts in a discussion.

"Nothing's fun."

"Liar," he accused himself. "Do something about this." About what he'd become. What he'd _let_ himself become.

"Why?" he asked again, the one word that had been weighing him down, crushing him. _Why._

"Why not?" he countered.

"That's not good enough," he decided. It was easier to sleep and swallow, to let everything wash by.

"Fine," he said a little resentfully. "Then you know what's going to happen?"

"Sure," he concurred; he doubted medication would do much for this new condition they thought he had, and that meant eventually going up to the next line of treatment, and they didn't call this _Happy Volts_ for nothing. He knew enough about ECT to be scared of it – in the past, at least – but now the thought filled him with a strange vacancy. Like there was an emotion he was supposed to be feeling but wasn't.

The next time he saw Jimmy was a shock, though, because after his _indiscretion_ he was even less popular with orderlies and doctors alike. They'd used the incident as an excuse to dose him, and dose him they _had_.

They were the first social hours he hadn't been pestering Gary non-stop, and it took a while for him to notice the reason for his strange sense of peace – no Hopkins hammering in his ear about how Zoe Taylor and Gord Vendome once got into a fight about who gave better something-or-other.

Gary wasn't really bothered, but then he spotted Jimmy more or less by accident; he was just gazing out across the room, when it suddenly clicked that the egg-headed drone with the vacant eyes was _Jimmy_, sitting in an armchair at the back of the room, looking like it was taking all of his energy merely to sit up straight.

He couldn't help watching, because he'd never seen the wildebeest sedated before. It must have been something powerful, because when the bell rang for the end of the session, Jimmy didn't even _blink_. He was picked up by orderlies and walked out, clumsy baby steps, looking down at his own feet like he didn't know what to do with them.

Then Gary had a horrific thought. Was that what _he_ looked like? Useless and dosed, moving around like a barely-animated Frankensten's monster? The images kept him up half the night, reflecting an image of himself drooling and _vacant,_ crushed under the heel of the system that he was letting win. He wasn't too dead inside not to see that.

It felt like someone had slipped razor blades between all his ribs, so that every breath he took stabbed and hurt, twisting the pain and humiliation of his own pathetic state. What had happened to him, he wondered, that he couldn't even be bothered to hate any more?

Yet, when the lights went on in the morning, sounding in the new day, for a moment, he wondered _what_ day it was, but the feeling passed quickly. He waited until someone came to crossly rap on his door, until he was ordered out of bed, because it was easier to lie there wallowing in his horror than it was to raise his head from his pillow.

He actually looked for Jimmy at breakfast, spotting him at the far end of the canteen, slumped over the table with his face buried in his arms. He collected food and went over, for the first time going _to_ Jimmy, rather than Jimmy coming to him.

Hopkins didn't move when Gary sat down, perhaps he hadn't even noticed. Unwilling to speak, Gary prodded a shank of shoulder with his fork. Jimmy let out a groan, then picked up his head and peered at Gary through muggy, pig eyes.

"Oh," he grunted, sliding back down into his arms. "It's you." Gary ate in silence for a while, and then Jimmy started to move again, hauling his body like a dead weight upright. "I feel like shit all over," he groaned. The sedatives would do that, he knew.

Then Gary looked at Jimmy, really _looked_. This had somehow become the definitive person in his life – and how had that happened? How had this person become the sum of his purpose, where besting him or beating him was all that mattered? He'd allowed Jimmy to become the end of all roads, the justification to all actions.

Everything important he'd done had been for the purposes of getting to or back at Jimmy, and when he thought about it, that was pretty sad. He'd let _this_ lump be the most important thing in his world – the yang against which he cast his yin. Unfortunately, that realisation did _nothing_ to help his mood, so they sat in prickly silence.

"Aren't cha gonna say anything?" Jimmy prompted weakly, and Gary stared up at the ceiling, at the stained, broken tiles and various spatters of food.

"Why," he sighed, overwhelmed by his own superfluousness, "would I do _that?_"

He was right too, because with or without his contributions, Jimmy got back on his feet – he was far too stubborn to be kept down for long. If they wanted to sedate him properly, to really grind him down, it was going to take a lot more than one shot of tranq; he'd proven _that_ to them well enough.

"Hey, Gary," he coaxed a few days later. The cloud had been lifted from his head, though it stayed wrapped around Gary's. Jimmy took his customary seat during social time, across the card-top table with a cretinous grin on his face. "I've got a surprise for you."

He held the suspense for a moment, but didn't go as far as to play the guessing game – for one because he knew Gary wouldn't answer him. He wasn't any more animated or any better than he had been, even though he'd been taking all his pills as proscribed; it'd still be a while before anything changed – or, more accurately, before the doctors realised that _nothing _was going to change and frog-hopped up to the next measure of action.

What Gary did do, though, was lift an eyebrow at Jimmy, and that was almost a sentence in their vocabulary. _So get on with it_, the gesture said_. _Jimmy raised a hand from below the table and slapped down a pack of cigarettes still wrapped in their plastic.

"How's that?" he boasted, grinning even wider. "I even asked Petey to get the kind you like." True to word, they were his brand, bold letters staring up like they were supposed to _mean _something to him – what was Lucky about any of this?

"Petey?" was all he said, the sound of his own voice rough from the first use of the day. Of course Jimmy found a way to communicate, he realised. Of course Petey had helped. But why had they helped _him_? "What's this meant to be?" he inquired.

"I dunno, an early birthday present?" Jimmy bantered. It wasn't, as his birthday was over the winter break, thankfully well away from term-time. They _had_ managed to miss Halloween in here, though, and if he'd had any effort left to care with, he might have minded. He used to love Halloween.

He said nothing, staring through Jimmy as he usually did, and soon the silence made his company uncomfortable again.

"I just figured it might be nice," Jimmy muttered. "Hell knows I'm having one." Gary made the small, slight gesture of a smirk.

"No lighter," he proclaimed, but Jimmy was already on it.

"Not a problem," he gloated, and then called across an orderly – clearly one of the ones who _didn't _hate him. He'd tried chatting to most of them, and some were more sympathetic than others. Usually the ones who hadn't had a part in bringing Jimmy in or giving him his meds. "Hey man, can you light us up?" he asked, opening the box and taking one for himself and handing another to Gary. A familiar shape in his fingers.

The orderly pulled a lighter from his scrubs without complaint, without even seeming to consider the fact that they were both too young to legally smoke, or that they were purportedly in a _hospital_, and lit both their cigarettes before skulking off again.

"See?" Jimmy proclaimed, pulling on his smoke and breathing out a large, acrid cloud – a familiar and comforting smell. "Nothing to it."

Gary said nothing and inhaled. He found himself enjoying the first cigarette he'd had in what felt like months, though it was probably less than that. He hadn't missed it – or so he thought – because he'd been too wiped out and desolate to want _anything_. Only now did he realise just what he'd been passing up on, and let his eyes slide closed, leaning back and drawing on the cigarette like it was his last before the firing squad.

"A satisfied customer, I take it?" Jimmy prompted sardonically, and Gary _could have_ opened his eyes, shooting Jimmy a narrow look and flicking ash at him, but chose not to ruin the moment with bad attitude, savouring it exactly as it was. They said nothing as they smoked, while some of the other patients looked enviously. Jimmy barked at them to back off when they got too close, scattering like swarms of sparrows.

Jimmy finished his cigarette first and then let it be, but before his own was out Gary took a second and then lit it off the first – after waiting this long, he wasn't going to do _anything_ in moderation. Jimmy looked half-impressed, though Gary had made it onto a third by the time the bell for the end of the session rang. They stood up, heading for separate doors, and Jimmy reached to take the pack that was unarguably his. Then something strange happened. Gary took the remains of his last cigarette out of his mouth and spoke.

"Thanks," he said briefly, and Jimmy stopped mid-step, practically frozen, looking over at Gary with complete bemusement.

"_Thanks?_" he marvelled. "Who _are_ you?" Gary only stared back – he didn't know what he'd been thinking; had he said it, or was it the medication? He'd just meant to express gratitude, but since when had that been the sort of thing he did?

"I..." he began, sucking a last breath on his third cigarette and stamping it out on the floor. "I'll get back to you on that."


	17. Out of the ashes, something unknown

After breaking the seal on the cigarettes he hadn't thought he missed, Gary's tether wore short as he ran out of something he only just remembered he wanted. The pack Jimmy brought didn't last more than a couple of days and it was _excruciating_ to not have any more. If he wasn't too dumb for such cunning, Gary would've thought Jimmy planed it, because it was almost as if he'd been waiting for this. Only a day after the supply had run out – while Gary was sitting in the main room wishing he had distraction – Jimmy sat down across from him with a look of intent in his eyes.

"Wanna smoke?" he baited, and Gary just gave him a glare; _don't fucking remind me, _it said. "All right, touchy," Jimmy replied playfully, and Gary just looked on with greater vitriol. "So let's get out of here," he offered in low, secretive whisper. Gary rolled his eyes. "I'm serious," Jimmy argued. "You can smoke all you damn well want on the outside."

_No_, Gary told him with a look.

"Why fucking not?" Jimmy pressed. "C'mon, it'll be easy enough."

"Will it?" he questioned at last, his tone as dry as his voice.

"With two of us, sure," insisted Jimmy. "What's holding you back?"

"Nothing," he answered blankly. "I just don't see the point."

"There you go again," he snapped. "What are you scared of?" Perhaps it was going back outside and realising that he really did have no purpose in life. That was what his inner critic accused him of all the time, almost every night, in fact, but there was no way Jimmy could possibly know that.

"I'm not having this discussion," Gary declared, standing up in a nicotine-deprived strop and heading to one of the guarded doors, squaring off with the orderly on duty. The only reason people got let out was to use the bathroom, and he wasn't about to try anything else – he just wanted away from Jimmy. He kept his lips sealed, hating to communicate with the bland-faced drones unless he absolutely had to. The orderly eyed him for a few seconds and then stepped grumpily aside, permitting access to the corridor. As far as they were concerned he was practically a model patient.

He walked down to the washroom and let the door squeal shut behind him; he didn't make for a stall or urinal, just stood over a sink, hands on either side, staring at himself in the misty, safety-glass mirror. Most of Jimmy's handiwork had faded from his face, but there were still a few shadows of bruises and blood under the skin. It looked like his own visage once again – it was just the rest that didn't match.

"What are you waiting for?" he imagined his reflection asking himself, lips still wired shut like someone had stitched them up in the night. "Don't you want to go?"

He felt like there was a self – an original Gary Smith – deep down inside him who _did_ want out, who was screaming and struggling to break through to the surface, but that the layers and layers of cotton wool swaddling him made it futile to even try, the hazy coddle of drugs and apathy. To thrash and fight only made it worse.

"I don't know if I can," he confessed to the mirror, which was torn between skepticism and apathy in his rigid, unfeeling expression.

After he realised he'd been staring at his own reflection for a little too long, he unclenched his hands from the basin and turned away. He had to go back eventually, or someone would come looking. However, when he stepped out into the corridor he wasn't alone in it. There was Jimmy, steaming down at him like a train running on a collision course. He tried to step by him, eager as Jimmy seemed to use the bathroom, but he bumped into Gary as he tried to pass, grabbing him by the front of his scrubs and pushing him against the wall.

"Come on, Gary," he seethed, sneering and huffing like a bull ready to charge. "I've had enough of this."

"Haven't we all?" he rebutted, but knew that wasn't what Jimmy meant; while he'd had enough of fighting a system that seemed determined to kick him into the floor – whether by Jimmy directly, or some other representative of his person – Jimmy meant the opposite. Jimmy wanted him to stop _giving up_, like it was a switch he could flip by will. If it were only that easy.

What the overblown goon intended to achieve from shoving him against a wall and hissing abuse like it was the one therapy they hadn't tried yet wasn't clear, but Gary just looked back at him with the same droll boredom, like he was waiting for Jimmy's patience to expire and put him down.

"What's wrong with you? Why won't you just _react?_" Jimmy snarled.

"How many times do I have to say it before you listen?" Gary droned. "I. Don't. Care." He was done. Done with _everything_.

"You used to hate me," Jimmy said, like it was somehow relevant.

"Used to," he echoed correctly. It wasn't particularly uncomfortable being held against the wall, so he didn't bother to struggle. "Exactly." Now Jimmy was just another shapeless thing in a world he was sick of dealing with.

"That was better," Jimmy growled. "Better than _this_." Only in Jimmy's opinion, Gary remarked to himself. He didn't bother to share the comment. He could have asked how long this was going to take, but it was only time, and he was trying to get rid of that anyway. He could lay here all day, like a piece of wallpaper.

Except then Jimmy did pretty much the one thing Gary hadn't ever expected him to do, which was tighten his fists in the cheap scrub shirt and then lunge forwards and kiss him. As in put _his _mouth on Gary's mouth in all understood definitions of what a kiss was.

At first he only felt shock, as awareness of what was happening dawned on him. Second up was confusion, and then as it prolonged, as Jimmy _kept _his warm and skin-soft lips against Gary, disgust finally rolled up to the party in third place. He realised he was now connected to a mouth that had touched Eunice, Beatrice _and _Trent Northwick's faces, and then he put his hands onto Jimmy's shoulders and shoved him back with a violent burst of energy.

"What," he snarled, "was _that?!"_ Jimmy was grinning at him insufferably, which made it even more intolerable. He looked like he though it was some kind of _joke_, like giving Gary a Chinese burn or twisting his arm up his back.

"What?" Jimmy teased, like this was the back of the girls dorm and Gary was one of the chosen. "I thought you didn't care?" A rage boiled up inside him like a science project gone wrong. With so much anger he couldn't even get a word out, he wiped his mouth, sucked up his repulsion and then spat it onto Jimmy's shirt.

"The next time you want to exploit your filthy urges, go try one of the vegetables," he seethed. "At least they can't fight back." It was meant to incense, to insult, but Jimmy gave him a look that was _all _victory instead.

"You know," he remarked with a moronic grin, spit trailing down the front of his shirt like he really didn't have a fuck to give. "I can't believe I'm saying it, but I think I missed you, Gary."

"Has the blood stopped running to your brain and made you so fucking stupid?" he retorted. Though he couldn't relish the thought of provoking blood to run anywhere else in Jimmy's body.

"Welcome back," he goaded, and _then_ Gary got it. A feeling had actually made it through, had bubbled up out of the tar bog. Sure, it was anger and disgust, but those were strong in him. He paused for a moment, realising what Jimmy was trying to do.

"Fuck off, Hopkins," he slurred. "You're not clever."

"Oh, I think I am," he gloated. "It ain't therapy or pills you need, is it? Just somone to-" He cut off when Gary grabbed him so tightly by the collar it closed around his throat, but before things could kick off there came a squeak of badly-oiled hinges.

"Hey! What are you two doing!" the orderly barked. "Get back in here!" He charged up and seized both of them by the scruff, pulling them apart. "Back to your rooms!" he decreed, practically dragging them back into the main room and then handing Jimmy over to a colleague, while he muscled Gary back to his ever-familiar cell.

The metal door slammed behind him with a bang that shook the air, and he shuddered. Shoved back into the shoebox, same four walls and only himself for company, he looked across the space like it held something new. It felt as if there were a hundred eyes in there from a hundred new selves, who were all waiting for him to pick his head up off the train tracks and _get on with it_.

"Well... that was unexpected," he remarked, but no one answered him. Not even himself; out of all the voices he had on offer, not _one_ had a thing to say. _"Fine,"_ he forced a tone lower, breath dropping to a whisper. They all wanted the same thing from him. Action. "If Jimmy wants out... why the hell not?"

So the next time he saw Jimmy – the following meal time, Gary had mastered a look of challenge on his face, no more glazed expressions of apathy. When he'd opened his eyes that morning, they'd stayed like that, wired like someone had poured varnish over them while he slept; he'd gotten up as soon as he woke, before the lights even went on, and had sat on his bunk, then pacing the cell. Like the electric jolt of ADD had overturned the depression, or _something_ had happened to make him feel like he could think again, not just run repeat-copies of old thoughts. Tapes from a worn-out hospital movie collection.

"If this is going to work," he murmured behind Jimmy's ear at breakfast, as he leaned across ostensibly to get the salt, "you better start by getting hold of a couple uniforms." Why do it himself if Jimmy would take the risk for him, he'd reasoned?

"All right," Jimmy replied obediently, almost glowing with enthusiasm, though still looking straight ahead, as if they weren't chatting about anything important. "You got it."

In fact, busting out the first time busting out was probably the easiest of all, because no one saw it coming. Jimmy got them both an orderly uniform from the laundry, then they just changed in the washroom during one of the open sessions, picked up a couple of the chronic patients in wheelchairs, and wheeled them out the front door with a sense of purpose. No one even looked twice.

As soon they were out the front of the building they dumped the oldies and were sprinting around the side of the compound, scaling one of the overhanging trees Jimmy was already educated on. By the time the alarm had been raised, Gary was running after him down some heavily-questionable tunnels, fully expecting to see skeletons and dead bodies on the way.

"Are you sure you know where we're going?" he questioned, having been hunched through a tunnel staring at Jimmy up ahead for the better part of ten minutes. "I'm not really enjoying the view here."

"Shut up," Jimmy muttered. "It's not that much further. I think."

"Really reassuring," he snarked, and was sure that Jimmy kicked up dirt at him on purpose. By the time they got back to Bullworth it was getting dark, but that at least meant that no one noticed them running around in dirt-stained scrubs. They made it to the boys dorm without being detected.

However, upon investigation they discovered their rooms were both locked, so they resorted to the only other place they could go without raising hell on sight. Not that their escape had exactly been _low profile._

Of course when Petey got back from a last-minute meeting with Dr. Crabblesnitch, he wasn't at all surprised to see Jimmy perched on his bed and Gary sprawled across the desk, both still in their Happy Volts uniforms and a light scattering of mud over the room.

"Petey!" Jimmy cheered like he was looking upon the naked body of Zoe Taylor and not the diminutive form of Pete Kowalski. Petey still put on a relatively good show of being surprised. Or possibly exasperated.

"Oh _heck_, you guys," he sighed, shutting the door behind him. "I just got back from talking with Crabblesnitch – they know you've gone."

"No shit," Jimmy replied with a cutting sarcasm. "Anyway, have you got the keys to our rooms? I could sure go for some proper clothes right now."

"Oh... they're in the office," Pete answered awkwardly.

"So go get them," Jimmy encouraged. Well, he ordered. He sounded friendly enough to pull it off, though. Meanwhile, Gary just lay back on the desk marveling at how he enjoyed _not_ being in the asylum, which he hadn't been sure would happen. He'd wondered if he would get back to Bullworth and feel lost and alienated, no different from Happy Volts, but he was wrong. It felt reassuring.

"B-but if I go back right now..." Petey countered. "They're already looking for you guys... it'll be suspicious."

"So you better go _fast_," Gary spoke up suddenly. "If you're not back with they key before they get here, Pete, I'm going to kick my door in for cigarettes and whatever they do to me when I resist arrest will be _your_ fault."

"Gary?" he inquired like he didn't know who he was speaking to, didn't even recognise the voice that addressed him. "Are you all right?" he asked pointlessly; it seemed far from what he wanted to say, but still the only thing even reasonably close.

"No, Petey," he replied cruelly. "I'm not. Primarily because I don't have a cigarette." And the rest, but what was that for Pete to know?

"He's doing okay," Jimmy answered for him, patting Petey on the shoulder. "At least he talks now."

"He talks? What do you mean-," Petey murmured with weak-minded confusion. "He's always-"

"Go!" Gary snapped suddenly. "You have a grand total of three minutes, Petey, so get moving!"

"Look, Pete," Jimmy assuaged. "You go and get the keys and come straight back, okay? He'll mellow out real quick after that. We'll deal with everything else afterwards."

"O... okay," Petey consented weakly. "I'll be right back." With that he raced back out of the door, shutting it behind him and leaving the two of them alone again. Gary trailed a hand across his eyes, then down his cheek, hungering for a smoke. He was hungry for everything.

"This wasn't actually a bad plan, all things considered," Jimmy commented out of thin air; Gary didn't answer, not seeing the need to. "Think we can convince Crabblesnitch that we're fixed?" he added.

"Not yet," he murmured. It hadn't passed his notice that Jimmy said 'we'. Whether they'd wanted it or not, Happy Volts had placed them on the same page. Their fates or futures linked like prisoners handcuffed together. And without intending to, without even recognising the change, something had altered Jimmy's point of view. He now saw things from the _other_ side of the looking-glass, the way Gary had been seeing them. Confronted with _that – _with the funhouse mirror reflection of himself – it wasn't surprising that Jimmy made the same decisions.

"So then what?" he posed, and Gary sat up, rubbing his hands over one another and looking down at his uniform; so much grimier under other lights, so worn out and sickly in hue. He sighed; trust Jimmy not to be able to have an independent thought of his own. Then again, he never was good at doing anything other than following orders and proving he was tougher than the tough guys.

Gary turned his hands over, examining the palms, then the tops again, as if he were reacquainting himself with his own body. He roused his mind, stirring it from the lazy slumber, putting it to work again on the latest problem. Perhaps getting out of Happy Volts wasn't a long-term goal or purpose in life, but it'd do for now.

"The way I see things," he began lethargically. "We have two ways out. The first is through good behaviour."

"Forget that," Jimmy scoffed. It would be a long time before _he _got back into good books with the general staff. "What's the other?" Neither of them were kidding themselves about whether they were going back – it was a clear inevitability. If the school wanted to push and Happy Volts wanted to pull, they had no other choice but to snap back like elastic. This break had just been a sign – a signal of intent, and step to get _him_ believing he could go back to the outside. Running the tiger outside its cage to remind it of the smell of the wild, or something like that.

"Well," he murmured, turning to meet Jimmy's eyes. "The second is along the lines of causing so much trouble that they can't wait to get rid of us."

"Now _that_ I like the sound of," he complimented, kicking off his filthy, mud-stained indoor shoes. "When can we start?"

"Carefully, is how we'll start," he reprimanded. "Too much trouble and they'll put you down for all sorts of nasty things. Mindless violence is just going to get you put in the shock-shop," he explained, and Jimmy's face fell, clearly downcast. "I was thinking along the lines of making sure our feet never touch the ground long enough to settle in, if you get my drift."

"So, we bounce?" he suggested crudely. "Bust out, pull back, then bust again?"

"Exactly," he confirmed. Not so stupid if you laid out the steps for him. "Sooner or later, one of them is going to get sick of cat and mouse"

"And if Petey works on Crabblesnitch..." Jimmy suggested hopefully.

"Maybe he'll get him to break first, _good_, Jimmy," he slurred, finding them on the same wavelength. Of course, they could each try to do it individually – could backstab or abandon one another in the individual fight to get out, but all that would do is convince Crabblesnitch and others they weren't going to stop fighting – and that was part of the reason he'd sent them away. For now they were best advised to truce, and truth be told, Gary didn't see why not. Sure, he wasn't going to stop trying to one-up Jimmy – and he certainly didn't _like_ him very much – but as he'd professed, they'd drawn even in some twisted way. He had no reason to be the antagonist of someone who could help him. Not only that, but someone who actually understood him better than most of the people in this henhouse.

Not to mention Jimmy was useful; alone it would be harder to get out, but with a determined hencheman to do all of the dangerous and dirty work of breaking out of a mental asylum – once they got put back in it – was going to be a great asset. He swung his legs off the desk, turning to face Jimmy.

"So," he announced, and Jimmy stood up like his voice had a hidden command in it. "Are we in this for good?" No point dragging his mind kicking and screaming into action to put it all to waste.

"Yeah," Jimmy concurred, standing up and holding out his hand, waiting for Gary to put his own into it. Surprisingly, he did. "Partners," he declared as they shook on it.

"Only in crime," Gary amended, his voice caught half-way between lighthearted and serious, as if he'd forgotten how to make a proper joke. Not long after, Petey arrived back looking extremely upset, but with their roomkeys in hand. Of course, prefects were a grand total of thirty seconds behind him, but Jimmy took the role of diversion and gave Gary a chance to get into his room, loading up on all his carefully stashed cigarettes and then grabbing a few other choice items. He stuffed everything into a bag and took it back to Pete, who was sitting on his own bed looking at Jimmy's filthy shoes like they were the only proof that it had really happened.

"So, Petey," he announced as he walked in, hanging the strap of his bag off one arm. "I'm going to need you to take this bag, and then get it to me however it was you got those cigarettes to Jimmy first time around."

"Gary?" he remarked like he was surprised to see him. "Why aren't you..."

"Running around in the dark with older men? More your area of expertise than mine," he mocked, smiling at his own jab – Petey was always good at bringing out the best in his wit. He held the bag out impatiently. "Just take it, femme-boy," he snapped. "We _really_ don't have time for your crap right now." Jimmy couldn't hold the prefects off forever, certainly not barefoot; they'd be coming after him soon enough.

"All right, but..." he hesitated, words languishing in his mouth, "are you okay, Gary? Really?"

"Honestly?" he replied, adding a pinch of sarcasm, "I've been better. But the only thing you can do right now is _take this bag_ and then use all your magnificent powers of persuasion to convince Crabblesnitch that Jimmy and I are ready to come home. Preferably _before_ we get electro-shock treatment." Petey paled a little, clearly unsure as to whether Gary was just trying to scare him or telling the truth; in this case it was actually both.

"Home?" Petey echoed, like it was the only damn word he'd heard in the entire sentence. That Bullworth might be _home _to him.

"Or something like it," he muttered, hearing the dorm doors smashing and angry footsteps. "Don't fuck it up, femme-boy!" he called before dashing climbing out the window and running for the gate. He didn't mean anything by it, he told himself upon recollection; compared to Happy Volts, _anywhere _was home.

He gave a number of prefects the runaround for a while, and by the time they had him cornered a truck from the asylum was already waiting. Jimmy was being held by the gates, struggling more for fun than anything else against a couple of prefects, but when an orderly stepped out with a syringe for each of them he quietened down.

"We'll go quietly," Gary said warily. "Right, Jimmy?"

"Sure," he concurred, becoming more and more docile. "We just wanted to see our friend Pete, but we've done that now." Gary gave him a look for overdoing it, but the orderly bowed to suggestion anyway and put the hypodermics away, letting them climb into the back of the truck free from coercion. As Jimmy went in, Gary spotted Petey lurking by the gates, watching them morbidly, like a child taken to a public hanging. Gary didn't say anything but met Petey's eyes before climbing in himself. If Petey could foil all hisplans and send them to Happy Volts, he at least ought to be able to do the reverse and get them back out again.

Jimmy didn't take the ride well, and looked about ready to bust out of the van the moment the wheels stopped turning, primed to raise hell rather than go back. Gary was more accustomed to the mental hospital experience, he remembered, and it was almost strange to watch someone going through it fresh. Jimmy didn't take well to institutions at the best of times, but he made Gary look like a line-treader in comparison.

"So," Gary remarked with a scholarly tone, while the truck rolled around familiar streets, carrying them back to the asylum. "I'll start with how to avoid taking meds." Jimmy watched him like a trapezist waiting for a leap, hanging off Gary's every word – that was strange too, finding that he had the devotion and obedience he'd been so obsessed with gaining once. All it had taken was them both being sectioned.

He explained how with a flip of the tongue you could pretend you'd swallowed your dose, but that it was risky because the orderlies were expecting it. If you got caught the force-feeding option was far from pleasant. The alternative was to actually swallow them and then throw the meds and anything else you'd eaten back up as surreptitiously and quickly as possible – hardly pleasant, but at least effective.

"That's gross," Jimmy declared dispassionately. "You're saying I have to stick a finger down my throat just to stay off meds?"

"I'm certainly not doing it for you," he retorted. "Anyway, the trick is to do it within a half hour or so, but without anyone seeing you. Not to mention that in the long term it'll rot out all your teeth and you'll slim down like Mandy Wiles in prom season, so they're going to wise up sooner or later. It's hardly a long term solution."

"This bites," Jimmy muttered, earning a wry smile from Gary.

"And you all wondered why I stopped taking my meds," he remarked self-rightouesly.

"I never gave a shit about that," Jimmy defended, and Gary almost believed him. "When we're out of here Gary, you can be on crack for all I care."

"How considerate of you, Jimmy," he jested, though he knew that he actually meant it – Jimmy finally understood what it was like to go through that medical machine. He was probably the only person who did. "Oh, I gave Petey some things," he added conspiratorially. "If he's good, he'll get them to you the same way he sent them before."

"Uhuh," Jimmy grunted. "I'll get right on that. Anything I should know about?"

"A lot of cigarettes," he answered with a grin, and Jimmy rolled his eyes.

"Figures," he said with a shrug. "So, what next?"

"Well," he started slyly. "First of all, you should get used to doing everything I say." As he expected, Jimmy stared him out, knowing that he wasn't asking for any small agreement or gesture – he wanted _total _subservience. To lay his hands beneath Gary's feet, and do the one thing he thought he wouldn't do again.

"Uhh... I don't know about that," he said like Gary had suggested eating nails.

"I imagined you'd say that," he replied without begrudgement. "So I've got a question for you. Why did you try so hard with me? Why not let me rot?" It didn't need further detailing – Jimmy had done anything he could to get through to him, even when he was a blank, apathetic whitewash of a person. He'd talked to him constantly without demanding or expecting response, smuggled in gifts, even whatever the hell that kiss was meant to be – all had been done to pull him back out of the haze. And he didn't _have_ to do it, they both knew that.

"I coulda left you," he answered obviously, "but it ain't right. I wouldn't wish that place on my worst enemy." Which Gary was. Those sneaking words, _right _and _wrong _were there again – undercutting everything Jimmy did, pervading his actions in a way Gary couldn't fully comprehend.

"You left me there once before," he reminded him, though without so much searing bitterness.

"Don't think I don't know it," he admitted. "That's why I wasn't gonna leave you to go insane for real. It's the least I could do, or something like that."

"My point exactly," Gary settled. "You've done something for me already. That doesn't mean I'm _indebted _to you or anything, but I'm not going to backstab you. Not this time, anyway." He couldn't necessarily speak for the future.

"How do I know that?" Jimmy pointed out justly.

"Because I give you my word," he said with a perfectly straight face, then Jimmy snorted and let slip a short, stifled laugh.

"Seriously," he insisted, Gary was smirking with him through the joke.

"It isn't in my interests to betray you now," he answered. "It's going to be easier to do this together than apart." It wasn't worth trying to do it alone for the sake of a petty resentment or rivalry – not when the stakes of failing were so very high.

Before, the threat of ECT had left Gary vacant, but now it scared him to his core. Letting them fry his brain, the one thing he had; burning it out to make him 'calmer' and remove all the things that made him himself. He knew it'd make him forget, who knows how much – he could forget Jimmy, could forget that whole year. He could forget Lola, and that was an experience he was interested in hanging onto. He wanted his own mind desperately, and the danger of losing it was terrifying.

"So... does that mean we're cool?" Jimmy suggested tentatively, knowing it was a bold move to suggest they really might not be enemies any more.

"For now," he accepted, but then his tone sharpened a little, "but you're still not my friend."

Jimmy snorted, leaning forwards on his knees, watching Gary like an old movie he'd seen before.

"Seriously, Gary," he jested like he ought to know better. "Who is?"


	18. Dog eat dog, but some hunt in packs

Once they got back to the asylum – _they _was Gary and Jimmy now – it wasn't even twelve hours before they were out again. This time they didn't get past the gates before some surprisingly athletic orderlies chased them down, and they both got a shot of sedative for that stunt.

When Gary awoke, brain of mud and feet of lead, he could feel that poison in his blood again. The apathy and fatigue. Why bother trying to escape if they couldn't get past the door? Who was he kidding thinking Jimmy and he were any kind of 'we' anyway.

As doubt and depression began to seep back in through the cracks, he forewent making any new plans, much to Jimmy's annoyance. He couldn't see the point in trying again, and spent almost three days wasting – feeling more and more jaded about each one as it passed, but they only added to the weight rather than relieving him. A hindrance not a motivation. It was around that time that his subconscious gave him a clear and controversial kick in the ass.

He was sleeping his way through another long, listless night when one dream became more lucid than the others; it was part memory, part fantasy, and throat-cuttingly sexual. A girl of familiar dimensions was with him for reasons he didn't know or care for. She was on top of him, and hands were on his shoulders, chest then through his hair, her mouth hot over his and he really could _feel_ it happening.

Then he woke up, and was mostly confused about what was going on and why he wasn't having the fantastic sex he'd thought he was. It took a good half minute before reality sank in. Realising the grim truth, he quickly resorted to grabbing himself and finishing the messy job, ending what his unconscious mind had started, the spiteful bastard. It was quick because he'd almost been there when he woke up, and was a little unnerved by how strong the release was. Like cracking the tab on a can of beam that'd been left in a rucksack all week.

The experience lit a fuse again, and he remembered some of the reasons he had to get _out _of here. Unless he wanted to rely on dreams and feverish jacking off for the rest of his life. There was someone out there who'd told him her door – and legs – were always open for him, and he couldn't get it off his mind. He became restless again, and soon nurtured the energy and determination for another plan. If Jimmy noticed the change, he wasn't curious enough to ask what had happened, or knew that Gary wouldn't tell him anyway.

His new idea involved the stealthy changing of all the clocks around the main rec room, then convincing an orderly the bell had broken and social time was up – which meant letting them out before the guard shift came on. The attendant was gullible enough to fall for it hook, line and sinker, and they made it past the gates this time, following in Jimmy's footsteps with a surprising amount of stealth.

They didn't go to school, but walked the road all the way down to Jimmy's Blue Skies hideout, where they could dump the conspicious uniforms and get real clothes. Though Gary was loath to wear anything of Jimmy's absolutely ridiculous wardrobe, he didn't have much choice.

They enjoyed a solid two days on the outside that time, Jimmy sneaking off to see Zoe at nights, leaving the den's one mattress for Gary to toss and turn on and pretend he wasn't jealous. Which he was, but would rather cut off a finger than admit it. Not of Jimmy and Zoe, of course, but certainly of the company. He hadn't broken out of Happy Volts for _Jimmy _to get laid.

Eventually they got raided after some do-gooder townsperson spotted them buying food from the Yum Yum Market, which provoked another relapse. He'd just become comfortable outside again, starting to sleep better, and then they'd yanked him back into his cell, the same torturous four walls, same pills, and the inevitable slip into listlessness again.

Jimmy's patience for these things being about as extensive as his intellect, he got pushy.

"C'mon, what've you got today?" he demanded before he was even in his seat, glaring across at Gary who was regarding a burning cigarette in his hand with some disinterest.

"Not today," he murmured blankly, wishing he could sink into the wall and camouflage himself; just _one _afternoon without Jimmy in his face.

"Oh what is it _this _time?" Jimmy bit. "Headache? Pills not working? That time of the month? Get your act together." Gary shrugged. "Don't you give me that," he scolded. "If I have to smooch you again, Gary, I swear to god I'll do it." He made the threat with a joking air, but Gary only looked up at him wearily, failing to offer any greater reaction. That was a bad sign, if he couldn't even care about that time Jimmy had gone temporarily insane and thought kissing him was the best medicine. Even if it had sort of worked, for a time.

"All right, fine," Jimmy glowered, getting up with the same stroppy air. "Suit yourself. I'll handle this one."

"Why _don't_ you?" he murmured resentfully, and Jimmy just looked down at him, shaking his head.

"I'm not givingup," he uttered cryptically, and then walked off, going to the other side of the room and starting to chat energetically to one of the long-term inmates he'd found some kind of rapport with; big scar across his nose, and Gary thought he'd heard him being referred to as Mac.

If Jimmy wanted to get himself out, he could go and do just that. He wouldn't be failing any og Gary's expectations, just fulfilling them. He didn't mind Jimmy abandoning him – if he'd cared enough to be angry about it, he would've cared enough not to be so apathetic in the first place. The plughole had him drained, and at least for now he couldn't fight it.

He'd stopped sleeping properly, and was drifting along as he usually did when there began a persistent tapping at his door that would _not _stop. Eventually he was forced from his bunk to confront it. As he put a hand to it, the door opened from the outside, which shouldn't have happened because all the doors were locked at night.

Except Jimmy Hopkins was on the other side, grinning his same smug grin and holding a finger to his lips. Even if Gary had been able to speak, he wouldn't know what to say; to the fact that Jimmy had managed this without him, or that he'd taken the extra risk _just _to come and get him. It made no sense, contorted in Gary's mind so that all ends were irrational. Jimmy didn't need him to get out, so why bother to come for him – if it were the other way round, Gary wouldn't have done it.

He held his tongue only until they were out, sneaking back along the tunnels, half-way to the observatory. Then, very suddenly, he couldn't hold it any longer and grabbed Jimmy by the back of the shirt, dragging him to a halt.

"Why are you doing this?" he hissed like he'd caught Jimmy sneaking money or cigarettes from him.

"What?" Jimmy snapped, pulling himself away. "What the hell do you mean?"

"This," he spat, throwing an arm wildly through the fresh, unconfined air. "Why'd you come to get me?"

"Wh... I thought we went through this already," Jimmy huffed.

"We established it was easier to break out together than alone. Not that you'd... you'd _rescue_ me, or something." Like he was a princess in a tower, and Jimmy was Prince Charming.

"What's the difference?" he muttered, walking onwards again with Gary persistent on his heels.

"The difference is that I wouldn't have done it for you," he admitted spitefully, seeking to aggravate the truth from Jimmy – or at least achieve _something_.

"I know it," Jimmy retorted without malice.

"So why?"

"I told you before," he insisted. "It ain't right to leave you."

"Don't give me that bullshit about right and wrong again," he accused, as if Jimmy were trying to convince him of fairies and not underlying morality in the world.

"Well call me old fashioned but I believe in _that bullshit_," he parroted, "but, if you really wanna know everything, Gary. If you just _gotta _know what my ulterior motive is, cause I do have one... I figure if you're ever gonna trust me, I've got to do something that'll earn it."

"_Trust _you?" Gary mocked, actually finding the right and wrong hypothesis far more realistic in comparison now. "Oh Jimmy, you really think...?"

"Maybe I'm just being an idiot," he remarked, "But I'm not gonna get anywhere leaving you to go insane at Happy Volts, am I?"

"It'd keep me out of your way," he pointed out, looking for the catch, the loop-hole in the thread.

"I said before, I wouldn't wish that place on anyone," Jimmy reiterated, "even _you_." Last time it'd been his worse enemy, but now Jimmy had been blatant. Gary thought the matter over without hurry, forcing Jimmy to wait as he stood dead-still in the hills behind the Library, staring up at the few stars that peered through the Bullworth smog.

"All right," he decide. "I believe you."

"Great," Jimmy growled. "Can we go?"

"It's time we put more pressure on Crabblesnitch," he called after Jimmy, walking behind him as he projected his instructions forward.

"Okay, sounds good to me," Jimmy commended. "How?" He was still happier to take orders rather than give them. It baffled Gary that he had really made it to be head of the school. He had no plans, no originality or motivation – then again, that might have been why people accepted him, because he wasn't a threat.

"First things first, we cause a little trouble," he began. "We have to remind the good headmaster that he can't run this school all by himself." Jimmy let out a pleased chortle.

"I like this already," he offered tribute, and a guilty moment of pride flashed across Gary's face for a split-second.

"I thought you would," he answered neutrally. "I'll go set up some havoc that gets all the cliques going at one another – pranks, aggravating tags, desecration of private property, you know the drill," he railed off boredly. "You go to Crabblesnitch's office and leave him a little _message_ from us, remind him who really keeps this place going."

"You're gonna go out causing trouble? Alone?" Jimmy queried, holding back the suspicion in his tone.

"Trust me," he answered, and it wasn't a light remark; it was meant to be a two-way street, and if Jimmy was serious about what he'd said, this was the first test. He had to take a leap of faith.

"... All right," he accepted, calm to outward appearances, and Gary let slip another grin.

"Good, I'll see you back at the dorms when we're done," he finalised, then turned and vanished into the darkness, ready to remind the school that they weren't going to escape _his _influence for long.

It was depressingly easy to concoct some events that would set the cliques frothing at one another, although Gary still enjoyed flexing the skills that had been cramped for so long. Greasing up the door handles and windows of Harrington House, stuffing jock straps into the library book-deposit slot, writing _Jocks Are Stupid_ on the gym wall and signing it from the nerds – all very standard stuff, but entertaining nonetheless. He made fast work of it too, operating almost like the old days, when his mind was sharp and clear – when everything made sense – and finished before Jimmy did.

Back at the dorm, Jimmy surely spotted him by the end of his cigarette, glowing in the darkness like a tracker.

"Well I think I made myself sufficiently clear to Crabblesnitch," Jimmy proclaimed braggishly, throwing down a number of empty aerosol cans with triumph. For a moment, Gary just pulled on his cigarette, making no sound or move to talk.

"You're not going to like this," he announced, and Jimmy must have pulled a suitable shocked face to match the sound he made.

"What? Did something happen?" he asked without concealing the worry in his voice.

"It went fine," Gary confirmed, "but... I think we should go back," he elaborated, and if not for the darkness he would've been able to watch the dance of emotions across Jimmy's face; confusion and anger doing a tense, anxious tango.

"What?" he snapped. "_Why_?"

"Think about it," he challenged. "If this works, we'll have shaken the school, insulted Crabblesnitch and stated our intention to return... without even appearing to have left the asylum. It sends a message," he insisted – rhetoric and symbolism were things that were typically beyond Jimmy.

"So it sends a message?" he bit. "What good does that do?"

"Just you wait, Jimmy," he promised. "Play it like this, and with little more pressure Crabblesnitch will be begging to have you back. I guarantee it." In spite of his pledges, he sensed Jimmy's hesitation. "It's not as if I like it any more than you do," he pointed out, "but it'll work." The silence stretched again, while he took several more drags on his cigarette.

"All right," Jimmy relented. "I sure as hell hope you're right."

"You'll see," he assured, standing up and crushing his cigarette under his foot. "But first," he diverted, "we've got to mess with Petey a bit." Jimmy snorted, following him up the steps into the dorm.

"You don't really change, do you?" he baited.

"Not that I know of," he answered glibly, but felt almost reassured by the remark. If Jimmy believed that he was always the same – that he couldn't be change – he didn't have to doubt it himself. So after using a handful of pennies to jam Petey's door shut with him in it, he and Jimmy set back off for Happy Volts, dragging their feet for a long as they could.

Tey had to get back before it got light or the orderlies would notice they'd been out of the box. It was still pitch black when Gary snuck into his cell got back into bed as if the whole thing had just been another vivid dream. It was depressing to wake up in the same cage again, but he steeled himself against it, imagining with glee the school day that followed. Arguments and fighting, cliques turning furiously on one another and no Jimmy to play peacemaker or debt-settler between them.

He didn't let the dark, depressive pull draw him under again, held on by faith that he was doing something that was going to make a difference. Soon he and Jimmy arranged a proper bust-out, and were rattling the door of Bullworth Academy once more. It was alarmingly effective.

Soon tags of _Jimmy's coming _and _Gary's back_ were being plastered all over walls and desks, heralding both the reaper and saviour of Bullworth. Their names were almost weapons, used wildly in their absence, and the odd report from Petey implied that things were taking a turn for the worse. After all, they were stripping the wires behind the scenes, crossing them and then letting the sparks fly, waiting for Crabblesnitch to confront reality: that Bullworth needed Jimmy, and that he wasn't coming without Gary.

Gary didn't know if Jimmy had been offered a one-only deal, but he couldn't see Happy Volts endorsing it. In their books _he _was the problem patient, and Gary the model. It was Jimmy who threw meds in the orderlies faces and fought tooth and nail every step of the way.

Furthermore, if they had offered Jimmy a one-time get out of jail free card, Gary didn't think he'd take it. Not without him. That wasn't to say he _trusted _him or anything, but he knew Jimmy's habits and mind well enough by now. He wasn't going to leave Gary in here.

Finally they picked a moment – when the fruit of Bullworth's chaos was so ripe it was about to spoil, rot and go rancid – then broke out in the crisp, early morning of a week day. It was obviously Gary's idea to go to their rooms and dare to don school uniforms first, then they broke into Crabblesnitch's office and made themselves at home for his arrival at eight-thirty sharp.

"Ah," the headmaster proclaimed as he opened his office and saw the two sat in clean shirts and slacks. "I wondered when this moment was going to come."

"Good morning, sir," Jimmy announced patronisingly. "I think you've got some paper to sign for us." They knew he had them somewhere – Petey had been resourceful enough to shower Crabblesnitch with all the necessary paperwork to discharge them for weeks.

"You cannot negotiate with me, boy," he scolded. "Yours is not a position of bargain."

"Isn't it?" Gary cut in. "By the looks of the school, I'd say you're talking a harder game than you can play. _Sir_," he added insultingly.

"That's enough from you, Smith," he barked. "All you've ever done for this school is cause trouble."

"Which is a very good reason to do what I want," he replied fluently, "otherwise, I might not have a reason to exercise the restraint I've displayed so far." If Crabblesnitch thought this was the worst he could throw at them, he was a long way off.

"All right, Gary, take it easy," Jimmy cut in, reeling him back like a fighting dog. "The thing is, _sir, _I thought you sent myself and Gary away to resolve our _problems _with each other, and I'm telling you now, we ain't gonna get any more resolved than this."

"Is that so?" the head remarked, watching them like the Krate twins. "You do seem to be cooperating."

"Much to your disadvantage," Gary pointed out. "So you have two options, Headmaster. You can accept that we're going to keep on doing this until you let us back in, _or_ you can send us to Happy Volts and deal with the madhouse all by yourself."

"You make it sounds as if I've not experienced it all before," he lectured austerely. "You think you're the first naughty little boys I have sent away to be disciplined?"

"Delegation is the way of the world," he replied. "Wouldn't it just be _easier_ to take the deal? Not to mention," he added persuasively, "I don't see my parents taking well to this development, once they realise that I'm being kept in Happy Volts to satisfy your pride."

"You're a scheming little brat, Smith," he retorted.

"It's dog eat dog out there," Gary batted back, without so much as a twitch at the intended irony. "I'm just doing what I can to survive."

"You don't _survive,_ Smith, you hunt," Crabblesnitch accused, but realised he was being dragged into an argument, and with a teenager no less. He reigned himself back in and slotted his fingers together. Finally, with a great, exaggerated sigh he picked up a fountain pen and took the documents in hand. "I will grant your requests," he started wearily, "on the condition that you both behave as the paragons of virtue henceforth."

"We'll be _model_ students, I promise you," Gary chimed.

"And also," he added. "You must ensure that Pete Kowalski never sets foot in my office again until the end of his school life. I'm sick at the sight of him." Petey had clearly done them good service chewing off Crabblesnitch's ear.

"Done deal, sir," Jimmy accepted. "you won't regret it."

"I'm regretting it already, Hopkins," he demeaned. "I have a suspicion that encouraging the two of you to work out your differences may have been one of my lesser decisions."

"Famous last words" Gary remarked obnoxiously, but Crabblesnitch's attention remained on Jimmy.

"Keep him under control, James," he ordered, and Jimmy nodded to Gary's scowl; however, then the head was addressing him. "And Smith," he added, flinging a sideways glance at Jimmy. "Don't let him do anything _stupid_."

Gary smiled deviously, basking in the moment like a cougar taking in sun.

"I'll try, sir," he jabbed, "I'll certainly try."


	19. Return of the King And his Shadow

It was a bit like a dream sequence, that first time Gary walked into a Bullworth classroom with his uniform and his freedom. A good dream, for once. This was a lesson he also happened to share with Pete, and it was worth it all just for that look on his face. The rest of the class weren't bad either. Gary was not expected. Rows of bulging eyes and gaping mouths.

"What?" he announced, strolling nonchalantly past the rows and seating himself next to Pete. Even Galloway was staring like he didn't know if it was the DTs or his mind finally snapping. "You look like you saw a ghost," he jeered, but still no one said anything. "Well," he snapped at Pete, picking on him as the closest thing there, "where's my _welcome back, Gary_?"

"I, um... welcome back," Petey mumbled, flying on auto-pilot. When cognitive functions returned to him he added, "Dr. Crabblesnitch didn't say anything."

"That'd be because he didn't know," Gary answered suavely. "He only found out he was taking us back this morning. Oh, and you're not allowed to go in the office or talk to him any more. I _think _he finds you irritating..."

"So, uh... ah, that means," Pete babbled uselessly. "So Jimmy's?"

"Yes, the return of the king," he patronized. They'd find out who was the real king soon enough "Although you might not get that slow-motion run through the field of wildflowers into his arms like you're so clearly imagining."

"Shut-" Pete started automatically, then cut himself off. He clearly didn't want the fourth sentence he said to Gary to be telling him to shut up. "Yeah... well, welcome back," he mumbled, and turned his eyes to the front, where the lesson had finally started.

If the classroom had been the warm-up act, Lunch break was the headliner. Of course now just about _everyone _knew who and who were back, and absolutely no one knew what that meant. Jimmy was clustered in one corner of the canteen with a few devout followers pushed right to the front of the crow. However, as soon as Gary walked in, the level of noise dropped. Whispers replaced shouts, and the crowd parted for Jimmy to lock eyes with Gary all the way across the room. Even Pete was watching, as if they were about to do a trick.

Gary rolled his eyes, still dead in Jimmy's line of sight, and then shrugged before wandering off to the lunch line – compared to Happy Volts, Edna's cooking was almost real food. Jimmy went back to his friends.

"That's it?" Petey questioned, trailing behind him like a kart.

"What's it?" he replied uninterestedly.

"With Jimm-"

"Who cares about Jimmy?" he cut in. "You think after spending weeks of having to choose between him and the clinically insane, I'm going to spend more time with him than I have to? I think he brought down my IQ just by the law of _averages, _Petey," he dismissed. "Really," he tutted, "you at least ought to know better than everyone else."

"Well... never mind," Petey sighed, shunting his tray along and dropping the topic. Gary wanted to make it damn well clear that he was going to talk as and when, and _if_, he was ready to, and not before. However, when he said he'd spend no more time than he 'had' to, he'd judged it just right. It wasn't long before he was sitting on Pete's desk, smoking out of his window, when Jimmy strolled in.

"Heya, Pete-" he began, then paused for only a second when he saw Gary. "How's it going?" he continued obliviously.

"Uh... all right," Petey answered. "Is something going on?"

"No, no," Jimmy denied. "I just haven't really had much time to hang out since I got back. Everyone wants a piece of this," he jested, and Gary made a revolted face.

"That's okay," Pete answered timidly. "You've been busy."

"Yeah, well there's such a thing as too busy," he declared, shutting the door and slumping back on it. "I'm knackered." That was the price of being popular and wanted by a crowd of slobbering morons.

"I suppose," Pete said with a shrug. Gary had already been making a series of scathing faces, but now he took it further, gesturing very subtly at Pete and making a 'can you believe this guy'-type of disgusted expression. Jimmy was noticing, of course, but hadn't said anything yet.

"Anyway, fraid' the work's not over yet," Jimmy declared with a renewed air of professionalism. "We kicked up a lot of fuss getting back here, so it's time to iron it all back out til this place runs like clockwork again." Gary made a faint sighing noise of disappointment, which passed unnoticed by Petey but hit Jimmy like a livewire. "And you can shut it," he scolded, which had Pete whipping around in confusion.

"What? I didn't-"

"Not you, _Gary_," Jimmy corrected.

"He didn't say anything," Pete replied.

"He didn't need to," Jimmy answered. "He's making stupid faces at me as if he likes the school this way."

"I do," Gary contributed cheekily.

"Yeah, well tough," he bit. "Huff all you want, it's still gotta be done."

"I didn't think... I didn't hear anything," Petey murmured backwardly, looking hard at Jimmy – as if he were wondering if they really were safe to be discharged into society again. Maybe he'd been noticing those 'we's Jimmy had dropped in his speech like sprinkles.

"You haven't had to listen to him when he won't fucking talk, Pete," Jimmy explained crudely. "You get an ear for bitchy little noises pretty quick then."

"When _Gary _won't talk?" Petey echoed as if he finally got the joke. "Yeah, right."

"Trust me, it ain't better," Jimmy countered acridly, dodging Gary's furious glares for so casually revealing _anything _about him from inside Happy Volts, much less that. He was barely ready to admit to himself that he'd fallen so far, let alone inform others about it.

"Well things haven't been good here, that's for sure," Petey said briskly, knowing to move on when he saw the signs, and he wasn't wrong about the school. Just on the walk into class Gary had seen fights, pranks and gratuitous violence between cliques, even within them – it really _was_ a shame they were going to have to change it back to the boring old ways.

"Yeah, well, we had to do something_," _Jimmy defended. "There had to be a reason for Crabblesnitch to bring back the King." Gary held his tongue and only looked smug. He only needed a look to show Jimmy what he thought of the claims, and Jimmy fired back a goading stare of his own.

"So what've you got in mind?" Petey queried. "To get everyone back in line, I mean."

"Dunno, a good healthy mix of threats and violence?" suggested Jimmy, but when he looked to Gary, he saw the disapproval in his eyes and the minuscule shake of his head. "Well, what do _you_ suggest?" he bit, and Petey's head snapped round like it was on a cord, trying to keep up with the exchange.

"If you get into fights now, Crabblesnitch is just going to see it as a _relapse_," he pointed out. "Good behaviour, remember?"

"Like you're an expert on that," Jimmy retorted.

"I'm better at flying under the radar than _you _are," he countered, flicking a cigarette butt out of the window and turning to face Jimmy head on. "I suggest you tackle the cliques with a slightly more delicate touch than your usual mindless pummeling."

"Yeah? And what does that mean?" Jimmy challenged.

"It means getting them back with honey, not vinegar," he answered. "Get your best sweet-talking boots on and hit the cliques one at a time, pacifying them like the wailing babies they are."

"Half of them don't wanna talk to me," Jimmy argued, "thanks to _you_, I might add." Gary grinned, too proud to disguise his pleasure.

"I'll do those ones," he answered obviously. "If they hate you, they're okay with me. Between the two of us, we've got most of them on a plate."

"You think you can bring them in line?" Jimmy commented.

"You think I _can't_?" he brought it back around, and that seemed to have Jimmy content. "Obviously, the first step is consolidating the hierarchy," he continued in a businesslike fashion. "Stop any internal conflict, secure the leaders' support, then get their pledges to call off the feuds." Jimmy listened intently, waiting until he was quite finished before responding.

"Well, Earnest isn't a problem, and I can get to Johnny Vincent provided you're a hundred miles away when I do it," he remarked thoughtfully. "But the Preps and jocks?"

"Tough bastards," Gary agreed. "Leave the jocks to me," he assured Jimmy. "Mandy can lead Ted by the cock, and all the monkeys will follow."

"Mandy?" Jimmy said with a cold streak, remembering exactly how furious the head cheerleader had been at him last. Even with his glorious return she was keeping a distance. "How're you gonna get at her?"

"Oh, don't you worry about that," Gary purred. "I've had a hand in her love life for months."

"And what's _that_ meant to mean?" Jimmy pressed suspiciously, half interested and the other half threatening.

"Not like _that_," he scorned. "She thinks I'm in love with her or something," he added. "Makes her pretty chatty if you get onto the right subject." He gave a sordid look, having learned all sorts of interesting things about Jimmy in the process.

"Typical," Jimmy goaded. "Just don't fuck her and get the entire Football team mad, okay?" It was only partly a joke.

"As if," he repelled.

"What, isn't she your type?" Jimmy baited. "What is? Sluts?"

"My _type_ is non-cheerleaders without an ego so far up their own ass they can't see how vapid and annoying they are," he retorted cruelly, accusing Jimmy for having seen Mandy as attractive enough to fling with in the first place. "Anyway," he restarted. "The point is, I can fix her so she'll mellow Ted. When he doesn't hate you, in you go to sort out business like the good, thick-skulled men you are." Jimmy was quiet for a moment, ignoring the jabs like a rhino shrugging off tranquilliser.

"Okay. And the Preps?" he moved on, accepting the plan like scrambled eggs on a breakfast tray.

"Whoah," Petey cut in suddenly, having been a piece of the wallpaper all this time. "You're not... I mean, you're not actually going to go along with that, are you?"

"Sounded all right to me," Jimmy remarked.

"You're going to let _Gary_ talk to the jocks?" Pete phrased.

"Sure."

"In your place? _For_ you?"

"Yes, Pete," he snapped. "It's fine. I trust him." To Gary's surprise, it actually felt kind of good to hear, nor did he mind so much about whether or not he'd tricked Jimmy into it or earned it sincerely. The result was still the same – a horrified look on Pete's face.

"You _what_?"

"I think you heard me just fine," Jimmy said, his voice a little sharp. Gary was enjoying the horror on Petey's face, like Jimmy had announced he thought an alligator's mouth was a great place to rest his junk.

"Oh Jimmy," Gary interjected with a scathing, fluttery tone. "I'm all warm inside."

"Shove off," was all Jimmy had to offer in response. "Now, the Preps."

"Hm, a tricky one indeed," he conceded, ignoring Petey to further the salting of his wounds. "Might be best if we _both_ go and straighten the whole thing out, old-fashioned style."

"Why would I need you for that?" Jimmy pointed out.

"Because I can make sure you get away with it," he answered obviously. "Talk the right talk and it won't come to violence. A few threats and broken vases should be just enough to put Derby back in his place."

"Uh, guys..." Petey murmured hesitantly.

"Yes, precious?" Gary jeered. "What is it? Are we not paying you enough attention?"

"Don't be a cunt," Jimmy butted in, and Gary rolled his eyes, heaving a frustrated sigh and leaning back against the window-frame. "What is it, Pete?" he entreated seriously.

"It just... sounds a bit like you're trying to take over the school again," he confessed awkwardly.

"It does? Well, that's a terrible mistake," Gary interjected. "It was meant to sound a _lot_ like a plan to take over the school." The look on his face was perfection.

"Wh... but you _can't-_"

"Actually, I'm pretty sure we can, Petey," Jimmy cut in. "I mean, you have to admit the best this place has ever been is when everyone knows who they're answering to."

"I guess," Petey conceded, and was looking dead at Gary when he added, "but..."

"But what?" Gary snapped. "I shouldn't be allowed to _help_? I should be stuck on the outside like before? Tell me, Petey, seeing as you're so very smart – what happened _last_ time I was ostracised? How did that work out for everyone?"

"That's not the same," Petey insisted.

"Cool it, both of you," Jimmy butted in. "Look, Pete... what's happened has happened. Time to put that shit behind us. I don't expect you to trust Gary, but you can trust me on this one, all right?"

Gary could practically see the little thought bubble above Petey's head, the hurt, almost-jealous little cloud of deliberation. Just because he'd once argued against Jimmy and objected to Gary being further outcast didn't mean he was going to encourage him to take up the reins of power by Jimmy's side. Except it wasn't something he had a say in, and that was wonderful.

"Okay," he sighed, still unable to properly stand up to Jimmy.

"Good boy, Petey," Gary cooed at him, enjoying the position he was taking up. Acting like Jimmy's right hand was practically making him _jealous_.

Jimmy conspicuously moved off business talk after that, and soon Gary was bored of their normal chatter. He skulked off to his room for an early night. Still riding the medicated rollercoaster – his moods not helping – he could sleep for twelve, thirteen hours a night without feeling like it was enough.

It was actually a bit of a shock going so suddenly back to school; early mornings and classes and routine. They were perfectly preserved, as if nothing had happened in-between. Like Bullworth had just stopped existing when he wasn't there, then passed effortlessly back into reality with his return.

However, because he'd been off and on meds without any real consistency, there was a lot of detoxing still to be done, and that made slipping back into the academic rhythm difficult. He didn't welcome the return of the restless, fidgeting ADD energy – an old familiar friend.

So he held off talking to Mandy – or anyone bar Jimmy or Petey, in fact – while still in that period of readjustment. He'd resolved to straighten out before he began to move among the wider population again. In his current state, he'd be more likely to snap at Mandy and reduce her to hysterical tears than he was to enact any careful plans.

Jimmy seemed to understand that too, because he didn't comment on it, never seemed even slightly bothered; he handled Earnest's problems with the nerds, and Johnny Vincent he was always going to deal with alone for the obvious reasons. He also settled the bullies, who'd been terrorising more freely without a king in place to tell them no. That was enough to smooth over some of the bumps in school life – and convince Crabblesnitch he'd made the right decision.

However – strange as it was – not everyone was as understanding as _Jimmy_ when it came to giving him space to recover; if only because Jimmy knew exactly what there was to recover from.

It was only a couple of days after his and Jimmy's return, when the intercom blared into the rubbery school air that he and Hopkins were to report to Nurse McRae's office. He ignored it, assuming that Jimmy would as well, which seemed confirmed by the follow-up series of demands that they come and report immediately or face being sent to the headmaster. Even so, they held fast.

Gary was in his room after school hours ended, dozing on his bed and appreciating the difference between these four walls and a cell at Happy Volts, when a knock on the door broke his peace.

"Yes?" he called morosely, and Petey let himself in, a large paper bag in his hand. Gary knew what it was instantly. "No," he said flat-out.

"You don't even-"

"_No_, Petey," he hissed. "I'm not an idiot."

"But Nurse McRae-" There was the confession of the crime.

"I don't care," he argued, his temper wearing quickly like soft wood against a belt sander. "No means no."

"Gary..." he started to say, his voice full of good advice and acting like he knew what Gary should or shouldn't do – like he _understood, _or even had a valid opinion. All ready to tell reasons why he should swallow all those new pills like a clockwork animal, wind-up and wind-down as he marched along the road of life slamming his little cymbals together.

"I SAID NO!" he snarled, throwing himself onto his feet and pacing at Pete

"All right!" he snapped, voice crawling up the octaves as he backed half-way out the door. "You don't have to yell!"

"Clearly I do!" he spat, still stalking him as he heard heavy, thudding footsteps race down the corridor.

"What the hell's going on in here?!" Jimmy burst, charging in like he and Petey had just sat down for a nice cup of _Jimmy's fucking business _and he was late. Gary took in the breath to answer, but before he could Jimmy saw the bag in Petey's hand. "Oh," he cut in, and then put a palm on Petey's shoulder, pulling him back a step like it'd remove him from the blast radius.

"Look, Petey," he started instructively. "Just leave those in his room, and walk away, all right? You can tell whoever wants to know that you gave them to him, and that's the end of it." Then his eyes were on Gary. He was next. "_You_ cool off," he ordered. "Wait til he goes and can chuck them or flush them or grind them up and feed'em to the damn birds, all right?" Gary was still angry – still _furious _that he even had to play along with the charade – but there was a part of him that was relieved Jimmy came down on his side. Jimmy wouldn't dare say those words to him any more.

"What? But... you shouldn't be telling him to throw his meds away, Jimmy," Petey protested, mouth working way faster than it ought to.

"Yeah, well you shouldn't be telling him he's gotta take them either," Jimmy returned. "This shit is down to Gary," he announced, snatching the bag from Pete's hand. "He gets to decide if he takes his meds, and not you, me, the doctors or anyone else. We clear on that?" No doubt Jimmy was worried about some prescriptions of his _own_ appearing on the radar, and he had to be talking the right game if he was going to refuse them too.

"But what if he needs-"

"If he _needed_ pills to stop him dying or going completely fucking insane, that'd be different," Jimmy snapped, "but it's not. I've seen everything they can do, Pete, and it's not all good_. _So if he wants to deal with his shit without them, you stay out of it, understand?" Petey looked terrified; actually a scared that he'd managed to provoke Jimmy's temper over this. This thing he never thought he'd find objection to. One lone soldier on Gary's side of the field.

"I don't need you to stand up for me, Jimmy," he cut in viciously, furious that Jimmy was fighting the battle for him all the same.

"Yeah well it's my damn business too, so get used to it," Jimmy retorted, and Gary wanted to blow. Take out some of the anger that was bottled in him like a soda dropping down a flight of stairs.

"What do you mean, your business too?" Petey quizzed.

"They've been calling me up there too," he answered obviously. "They wanna dose me as well, Pete, surprised McRae didn't mention it to you." He must have selective hearing if he'd been missing that all this time.

"But-"

"Sure, a while ago I might've said it was okay if I don't take them but Gary has to," Jimmy second-guessed, "but I've seen too much now, and it ain't fair. So I'm gonna to make this really simple," he elaborated – while Gary kept trying to find a point to leap in but failed in the effort. "This is going to be the _last_ time I ever hear you talking about who should or shouldn't be taking medication. Are we clear?"

"I... uh... yeah," he gave in with a pathetic, confused struggle, looking at Gary like he was wondering what he'd _done _to Jimmy. How he'd suddenly put a master hold over him. In fact, he didn't really want to explain, because it was better if Petey thought he was a brilliant puppeteer, rather than knowing the truth that Jimmy had just seen things from his point of view and made the only rational choices a person could make.

"Good, that's what I like to hear," Jimmy answered boldly. However, Gary still objected to his tone – to his whole hand in the matter – and pulled his shoulders up high, eyes flitting between them crossly.

"You can go now," he hissed, but neither moved as quickly as he'd like, or even at all, so he surged forwards and seized Petey by the shoulder, shoving him. "Get lost!" he barked, but was stopped from by one of Jimmy's arms across his body.

"Easy," Jimmy scolded. "Play nice with Petey. He breaks easy." Gary pushed back from Jimmy's arm like it was live wire stripped to the metal sparking in the rain.

"Don't touch me!" he rushed, ripping himself away and glaring daggers at Petey instead, resentful and wanting desperately to lash out for something.

"Pete, I think it might be best if you time out on this one," Jimmy commented, and Petey looked at him with horror.

"No, Jimmy, it's all right," he started, "we'll both go-"

"It's fine," Jimmy insisted, and Gary seared another look into both of them. "I got this."

"You've got nothing," he snapped resentfully. "The pair of you can fuck off." Jimmy gave hima stern look, like a disapproving father.

"Petey's just trying to help," he reprimanded, like the insult hadn't been personal – as if he didn't care what Gary said to him, but _did_ when he said it to Petey. "Just because you're in a shitty mood doesn't mean you can be a bastard to him."

"Doesn't it? How are you going to stop me?" he baited, not really bothered about _who _he cut into – not between the two of them, at least,.

"Try me," he goaded, and then muscled his way into Gary's room at the same time as muscling Pete outside it. "G'nite, Pete," he bade as he slammed the door shut, then in a single movement Jimmy hurled all of Gary's meds – still in a paper bag in his hand – right across his room to slam into the wall.

"You really _do _try to protect that little squirt," he accused. "Why is it? Is he just like a cuddly toy? Only he's warm and actually moans when you hump him in the-"

"You shut your damn mouth," Jimmy snapped. "If you're so pissed at the world, Gary, then shut your mouth and just hit me." Gary grit his teeth, grinding together like stones; he'd wanted to go for Petey – he was more satisfying to upset, but Jimmy was getting in the way. "And if you carry on talking shit," he warned, "imma hit you first."

Gary wasn't sure how much he liked this new interventionist policy Jimmy was taking in regards to his personal life, but he figured it was worth a try. He reached out and sunk a fist into Jimmy's cheek, smacking into his fleshy skin with a piercing clap.

"That all you got?" he jeered, and Gary ripped the hand back, knuckles hard on Jimmy's cheekbone. "I've had girls hit me harder than that." He was rubbing his face like it was a pleasant tingle. Then Gary's temper flared fully and he drew back another fist, driving it into Jimmy's ribs, amazed that he didn't try to stop him. He just took the hit, staggering backwards a pace and wheezing.

"Feel better yet?" he remarked cheekily, and Gary threw out his hands in annoyance. There was no gratification if Jimmy wasn't even going to fight back, doubly so when he acted like he _wanted_ to be hit. He stopped with a frustrated hiss and went for his window, lighting up a cigarette almost on reflex. "Blown some steam off?" Jimmy baited.

"Fuck you," he murmured, dragging hard.

"Look, it's all right," Jimmy assuaged. "It's the first few days back. I know I've felt some pretty messed up shit running throughmy head." He was trying to _empathise._

"So what, you're my fucking sponsor now? _I know how it feels, Gary_," he parodied, still feeling the angry, restless jitters through him. At the moment it was all extremes; a mash-up of ADD, the medication, whatever anti-depressants and psychotics, and then a few more sedatives for flavour – this not counting that he'd dragged himself out of a close call with depression, and it craftily returned in unpredictable swells.

In short, he had enough to deal with without _Jimmy_ acting like they were best friends, sharing burdens over sleepovers and pillow fights without the pillows.

"I'm just saying that I get you're tense," he returned unpleasantly. "And I'm not gonna hold it against you if you blow your lid."

"I don't need your fucking sympathy," he growled.

"You don't have it," he snapped. "You're the _least_ deserving of pity of anyone I've ever met. I just mean I'm not gonna kick your ass this time, on account of everything. _Next_ time, though," he implied with an amused foreboding, and Gary sighed.

"Fine," he murmured grimly, sucking on his cigarette. However, he hadn't got more than half way through it, Jimmy standing a ways from him in silence, when he found himself talking again. "I'm just... annoyed," he remarked to the cold, chilling night air; if Jimmy just so happened to overhear, that was unintentional.

"Bout what?" he inquired as uninterestedly as he could sound when he was actually interested.

"I'd _just_ gotten straight," Gary confessed, "and now I'm back at the start again." The uphill battle to control his own impulses.

"If you did it once, you can do it again," Jimmy pointed out. "It'll be easier to clean up second time round." He knew Jimmy was making a cheap play to cheer him up, but what he didn't know was _why._ Except that Jimmy had been being nice to him for so long he was starting to take it for granted.

"I guess," he conceded, closing his eyes and taking a long, slow breath on his cigarette. He still wasn't over the phase of binging on them yet. He expected that he'd get sick of it soon enough and drop back down to his old numbers.

"_Not_ that I should be saying this... but have you seen Lola yet?" Jimmy interjected into a slightly hostile silence, a guilty, gossipy tone to his voice. "She seems kinda pissy you haven't looked her up."

"What am I?" he asked drolly. "Algie?"

"Hey, I'm just saying, if it's tension you have a problem with..." he drawled in his usual laissez-faire style. "There's nothing like a bit of good company to brighten the spirits, if you know what I mean."

Gary _had_ caught himself thinking about her – he couldn't deny that, but hadn't felt like showing his face until he was good and ready. Then again, she'd probably be able to strip him of any defenses he could put up in this time, so there wasn't really any point in refining himself. She'd only get back down to the level where he knew he was still the same. Then Gary considered exactly what it was Jimmy was telling him to do.

"Jimmy, was that a long-winded way of saying I should get laid?" he phrased without delicacy.

"Well," he answered with a put-upon roll of his eyes. "... Yeah." Throwing the last of his cigarette into the yard behind his window, Gary turned to him with a thin smile.

"You know, James," he remarked. "Not _all_ of your ideas are stupid ones."


	20. What the heart wants

Gary Smith was on the hunt, and it was easier tricks when the prey was after you too.

"Long time no see," he called out from behind a corner in the parking lot, and Lola glanced at him for all of a second before sticking her nose up and carrying on in the direction of the auto-shop. She huffed and strutted past him, as if that wasn't _exactly_ what he wanted. "Frosty," he commented, not picking himself off the wall yet. "Was it something I did?"

"More like what you _didn't_," Lola commented with her back to him – no problem there, he had a fine view. "Which was anything." Gary made a theatrical sigh and stood up.

"I've been busy," he lied. He'd been sitting in his room forcing classwork down his throat and trying to resist the urge to burn things, mostly people.

"No one is too busy for _me_," she claimed, and then finally whipped around to face him. "Anyone who waits clearly doesn't wantme enough." That was a statement that raised hairs on his neck, a scent of challenge on the air – she'd be less fun if she gave in.

"You doubt that I want you?" he echoed with a cushioned threat. Taking a set of steps, he closed the space between them and increased the intensity of space, or lack thereof, between them. She lavished in the attention, fishing for his reactions as enthusiastically as he was giving them.

"A month's a long time," she remarked innocently. "Things change. _People_ change." It was almost dirty talk to lie so flagrantly, playing a conversation between the lines like they could only communicate in code. He smirked, knowing the blatancy of her facade and the shallow, ugly face of real things.

"Not us," he answered scathingly, pouring out the words without rushing, flowing slow like honey. He savoured the play-hunt because it _was_ just for fun. If he didn't already have her, she would've gone by now.

"Prove it," she baited, and he knew the catch she wanted. In view of anyone who could walk by, because to hell if she was going to miss making him risk breaking every bone in his body to do it, he leaned in, lifting her by the chin, and closed his mouth tight over hers.

He'd thought of it many times, especially since Jimmy's lewd suggestions as to what he do with all his 'extra energy', but it still didn't quite capture the awkward intensity of the real thing. Just a second before he wanted to back out, he forced himself away.

"_That's _how much you missed me?" she taunted with a light, girlish chuckle; hand on her hip, the other by her side because she didn't need to touch him. She already knew that just being around him was enough. "I don't think you like me enough."

"Fine," he hissed, and with an unleashing of the boundless energy he bottled up, he grabbed her, span her around so she was back to the wall, and gave a steam-burst of frustration and anger and all the restless anxious noise that built up inside his head. He kissed her until he could taste the gum she didn't even have in her mouth any more, until his organics were jumping ahead of themselves and getting started for no good reason. He only backed away when more would've made a fool out of him, and she could've had blood smeared around her mouth for how much she looked like she'd made a kill.

"Oh, you _did _miss me," she amended breathlessly. "How sweet."

"Call it what you want," he denied cruelly. "It's lonely in the lockhouse."

"I can imagine," she teased, eyes making an obvious gesture to his pants. "You must be ready to explode."

"I heard you've been asking after me," he reminded her, making sure she knew that he wasn't as indebted as she wanted him to believe. He was going to be hot news in this school soon enough, and for a girl who slept her way to the top of one clique she wasn't going to cast her faux-pearls in front of just anyone. "Didn't want to disappoint."

"There's still time for _that_," she joked, pulling out a compact mirror and adjusting her makeup after the number he'd done on it. Watching her made him absently-mindedly wipe his own mouth.

"I hope not," he asserted, keeping space and giving himself time to breathe. Didn't do to get too worked up and make her think he wanted her too much. Even though seeing her changed things; he'd been prepared, but still not expecting to have the kind of desire he did. She appealed to him like water after weeks of thirst. "I have a plan," he continued seriously, and Lola feigned mild surprise.

"I thought you might." She flipped her compact shut, slipping it back into a pocket. There was no reason he couldn't use a scheming mind to fix up things purely for his own enjoyment. "So? What've you got in mind?"

It was easy enough in the end – even getting Jimmy to help him wasn't worth more than pointing out it wasn't much harder to sneak two girls into the boys' dorm than one. A night with Zoe Taylor was apparently some kind of incentive for him, though Gary couldn't imagine why. Of course, if Johnny found out that Jimmy was helping Gary fuck his girlfriend, it was likely to start a whole new reign of fire, but the idea was that he _wouldn't_ find out. That was how he pitched it, at least, and Hopkins bit like a hungry carp.

The rule about sneaking girls into the dorm was a loose agreement that if it didn't happen too often it would be tolerated – anyone making abuse of the lax security merited a shutdown for everyone, and such ambitious lovers always got a week of trashcan diving to make their girlfriend far less fond of them anyway. In rarity it worked extremely well, and it helped to have a partner who knew her way around a dark backalley.

He sat out of his window that evening, smoking into the night and straining for noises, paranoid until she appeared at last, ambling along with the same sexualised swagger that took her everywhere, as if she could never be hurried in her life.

She stepped into the light cast from his window and Gary didn't say anything, didn't waste time as he flicked the cigarette away and reached an arm out to her. She took it by the wrist, grip holding firm as he braced and she put one foot over the other, climbing and then boosting herself up over the ledge, hands on the window sill as she swung her hips inside. If he didn't know any better – which he didn't – he'd think she'd done it before.

As she twisted and slid into his room with the agility of a cat, he shut both the window and curtains behind her, sealing them in. A wedge was kicked so hard under the door it'd be a monstrous task for anyone to try and get through it in a hurry. She looked around, as if she were expecting to learn something from his room, and then went to take another step past him.

"No," he interjected, the sound coming from his throat lower and hoarser than he planned to. "Stay." A moot command, that she obeyed only out of curiosity, letting him back her into his desk and finally putting hands back and hopping up onto it. Knees parted and he moved into the space between them, flowing as water would into putting his hands to her real, warm body and kissing her. After everything he'd endured, he just wanted to feel human again; to demonstrate he wasn't a collection of medical samples and drugs. Tasting her like a long forgotten delicacy, he gradually, slowly pulled away, keeping her bottom lip held between his.

In some ways it was overwhelming, having her completely to himself; he'd recollected so often the first time that he wasn't sure if it was real any more, or if he'd just stained it with rose-coloured dye. But even if it was an ideal, she was here and she wasn't his, but she would pretend to be and that was far better. He could want her without fear of anything else happening. A night to be enjoyed; not tolerated or shunned or loathed with every altered chemical in his body.

Starting slow, taking the intimidation and excitement in small doses, he touched a hand to her face, turning her head to the side and baring up an expanse of neck that looked just about right to rest his face along. He didn't feel the need to bite or suck or do anything more than just put his cheek to her skin and take in the sweet, perfumed smell of a person who was here to touch him with something other than necessity or vitriol.

She was everything Happy Volts _wasn't;_ unlicnical, without sterilisation or detergent. Gradually he moved to taste, taking her neck to his tongue like a delicacy not eaten for too long, savoured rather than devoured. She was warm and _soft_, not hard and uncompromising like bunks, unpadded rec-room chairs, or even Jimmy Hopkins.

Gary had never been a person with enthusiasm for physical contact, but now roused he couldn't bear to stop. He took her in by sections, neck and throat, jaw, ear – mouth, but only sparingly – and then down to her shoulders, past her collarbone like a cartographer of the human map. He'd pushed the jacket off her shoulders and drove her further onto the desk, legs sliding across the smooth worktop. He melded his face into the curve of her neck and wondered if he felt his pulse or hers.

"Why are you stopping? You're doing so well," she tittered, and in wordless demand he picked up a hand of hers and slid it against the back of his neck. He wouldn't be so weak to ask for her to touch him, but he'd demand and he would get it because he earned this by being miserable for long enough.

He felt her nails pinpoint against the back of his neck, trailing up the base of his skull, scoring neat, therapeutic lines against his flesh. He let out a breath and rested on her, letting the touch run through him for a moment, squeezing his hands across the junction of her thighs and hips. Taking her in like a diver surfacing for breath.

"Oh honey," she soothed, stroking him down the back like she was consoling a lost child. "They really _did_ something to you, didn't they?" She was circling her fingers right across the back of his head, pads of her fingers in a ring across the shortest fuzz, and it was too distractingly good to want to move or make her stop.

"What?" he ground out, trailing a palm along the side of her leg.

"You're all _soft_," she lilted, and then swept a hand all the way down his spine. He felt himself flexing into it like a cat.

"I'm not," he murmured resentfully, wondering if he should've waited longer, if she could read him so openly. Was he _that_ vulnerable, he wondered? "But I'll make it better," she cooed, and then slid both hands up until her fingers locked over his neck.

His eyes were shut for now, and he had no reason to want to open them as she traced over and around the shape of one of his ears, the touch light and electrifying.

"Did you think of me?" she poured into his ear like secrets, and he slid her forward so that her legs would lock around him. "On those long, lonely nights?" He wasn't going to answer, and then her tongue daubed against his ear and his teeth clenched so hard keeping in gasps he might've cracked his jaw.

"Did you?" she breathed over the damp touches, as he clenched and unclenched fists. He was going to have to release the tension sooner or later, he told himself. She would drag it out of him with a hunting knife if she had to.

"Yes," he answered dutifully, weak with surrender but starving for more. He didn't want to remember or think or carry dead feelings like stillborns any more. He was burned out pretending, and had to wantsomething and have it or he was going to go insane.

He cemented a hand on each of her legs, pressing down as he kept his head bowed, unsure if he could bring himself to look right at her now; not when it felt like she was pulling on a single strand of wool and unravelling him like a cheap sweater. He didn't want her to stop though, and allowed secretive wisps of breath escape him as she ran her hands along his sides and grabbed the hem of his sweater. He moved easily with her guidance, malleable as she pulled it off him and dropped it to the floor.

He found it a little strange to think that _he_ could covet touching someone like this so much – that all he wanted to do was run his hands and mouth over someone, feeling the press of their body against him. Every second skin-to-skin with her seemed to erase a minute of isolation in Happy Volts. A minute of loath for a minute of pleasure.

In time she only had a bra left above the waist, which he trailed his fingers around the outside of, tugging down to expose more sensitive skin and places he could latch with a hand or mouth, eliciting thespian sounds of encouragement. She lavished in all the attention he was willing to give, as much a slave as Johnny or Gord would be when she had them insinuated with venom. Had it not been so good, he might have been resentful.

Instead he cared only for more gratification, letting her draw him around as a dog on a leash because being taken out on a cord was better than a cage. What pleasure he felt _was _real, and he didn't care what strings were on it tonight. He couldn't be played when all he wanted was for her to fuck him, he expected no more than he'd get. She'd taken no blood or gold from him in exchange for this, because his vulnerability was rarer than either, and _that _was what she wanted. He didn't mind offering it.

This time he remembered the undoing of her pants, and knew where to search for the zipper-catch that slid down fast as her curves broke eagerly out of such confinement.

"Fast learner," she applauded with mischief. "Not even Johnny's worked out how to do that yet." To some, the mention of her boyfriend might be a turn-off, but he found it inflaming. His pulse thumped as she pushed back on her hands and lifted her lower body off the desk, letting him peel back the pants with a slow, careful air – if he was going to do it, he'd at least savour the moment.

"And where does he think you are right now?" he asked sickly, stripping the pants from her and glossing his eyes over full, curving legs and underwear that a girl only put on to have someone else take off.

In fact, he actually couldn't imagine anything _more_ satisfying than talking about a girl's boyfriend while he was getting ready to fuck her, which he made very clear when he took her face in one hand and went straight for her neck, scraping his teeth across her gently enough that she wouldn't complain.

"Well?" he pushed when she didn't answer, too wrapped up in feeding him needy, squeaking noises of pleasure.

"He thinks I'm back in my room with a headache like a _good girl_," she half-moaned, while he swept his tongue around the shell of her ear, moist as he put his mouth over it and murmured, hoarse and ragged.

"Which you aren't_,"_ he accused, and she was slyly locking her legs around his once more, pulling his body into the space between her thighs.

"I'm a good girl," she protested. "I'm _especially_ good to you."

"Maybe," he murmured, coasting a hand down her side and slipping it past her underwear, confirming how wet she was. Words broke off as she angled her hips into the touch, and he buried face and mouth against her hair, rubbing and almost going in, then craftily pulling back. She made a dismissive noise – though _she'd_ know about teasing – and Gary brought his hand up where he could see it, rubbing fingers together still slick. Studying them a moment, he brought fingertips up to his mouth and tasted like a gourmet choosing produce.

Without passing comment, he put both hands onto her thighs and slid her across the surface, pushing back so that she laid out on her back, perching her feet on the edge of the desk as he lowered his mouth between her legs. He hooked aside the crotch of her underwear with a finger, not looking too long before he put his mouth to her. It was strange, he couldn't deny that, but she made a noise that she really ought not to, considering the dorms weren't _that _soundproofed, which more than assured him this was worth continuing – and if he'd had any doubt left, the intoxicating notion of eating out Johnny Vincent's girlfriend on a desk in his dorm room was more than enough to keep him in the game.

Soon enough, when he took note of how hard he was, in spite of having been the one _doing _and not receiving, he pulled away and wiped his mouth dry on his hand.

"Now," he said loosely, and catching her breath, without smarm or sarcasm, Lola moved to his bed. He took a moment of isolation to watch her, to reflect on how he was going to have _that_, that his life was real, and then went doubly-fast after her.

He was already achingly hard as reached over for the drawer of his nightstand, bringing a condom out of a box he'd freely admit to buying for the sole purpose of _her_. He presented it with a dirty smirk, and she accepted with equally sordid grace. She positioned herself over him, going onto his back with total acceptance as she tore the packet and went through with it. He could have done it himself, he knew, but that defeated the point.

She moved with practiced elegance, putting them into the right places, and sliding into contact with entrancing ease. He was expecting it to be good, but it still took him by surprise, twisting his hands in his sheets, a groan of unintelligible sounds leaping from his tongue.

She stopped once seated, waiting with throbbing from inside, and he was welcome of the respite or it would've been over too soon. That he had struggled last time seemed unbelievable now – wanting her changed everything. He just closed his eyes and felt her hips and pushed up as she pushed down and let it become him for a moment.

He allowed her to set the pace, proud and unashamed to fuck herself with him, and he basked in the loss of autonomy. He didn't want control for now, she could have it and swallow it and make what she wanted with him, as long as it still felt good.

"Someone looks happy," she joked, surely seeing the clenched, crooked grin across his face. He opened an eye and watched her.

"What do you want?" he ground out in slurred, content words. She'd stopped now, which gave him more clarity.

"How about a switch?" she declared, and with a shrug he agreed. She put herself underneath him and it was better to be more claustrophobic, over her and in her and able to hold her mouth with his as she put them back in line to start up where they left off. Now he had the power to set rhythm, and twisting her legs high up he got different sensations, easy ways to forget about school and parents and the world, each one blotted out one thrust at a time.

He stuck to what felt good, but didn't rush lest he finish it too soon – this was only one night, and he wasn't going to waste it sprinting for the finish line. She dug her fingernails into his back and drew them in slow scratches outward, like the spines of bone wings. He rolled into it and was surprised by the mixed results of something that hurt a little in with the rest.

"Like that," she panted as he picked up a little, throwing herself back up into each movement like she couldn't get enough. "_Fuck me._" She always seemed to have the words to make him lose his composure, and these were exactly what he had to hear to stop seeing the surface of the water any more. Down and down he went, waiting to hit the bottom and scream a thousand lungs' worth of resentment and isolation in huge bubbles back up to the surface. The clincher was when she newly applied catlike nails and scored four deep marks all the way down his back, lighting explosives at every vertebrae, so that before he could even work out the _what _he was already coming, senseless and grateful for it as the hot mess poured out.

When sense came back to him, he was still clutching her but rasping deep, desperate breaths beside her face, like if he stopped breathing for too long he'd pass out. His back tingled, and he felt someone's pulse beating a military tattoo against his skin, eking out the last moments of relief and then rolling over, slipping face-down onto the covers and heaving with breath.

"Feel better now?" she inquired playfully. He didn't answer because she knew it was an understatement. Just what the doctor ordered – or Jimmy, at least. Not that Gary was going to take just any advice he dispensed with a dirty grin.

While he was recovering, having gotten rid of the mess and twisted himself up in sheets like a larvae seeking to cocoon, Lola moved to collect her scattered clothes.

"Wait," he mumbled, reaching clumsily for her and closing his fingers around her wrist like a needy child. "I'm not done with you."

"Too bad, baby," she teased, twisting her arm from his loose, boneless grip and getting up anyway. "I like to keep a boy wanting more." She grinned and wriggled back into her panties like a backwards strip-show. "It means he'll want to see me again."

"-Manipulative bitch," he accused, and as she giggled and leaned over him, he latched onto a light kiss and dragged her with a heavy hand back over him, til she was straddled over him through covers and he felt the reassuring weight of her body on his once more.

"I've gotta go, stud," she mocked, as he tried to break up anything she said with creative employment of his tongue. He tried not to let her get a word in edgeways. "Baby, if you like me _this_ much," she continued patronisingly, taking his chin in her hand and holding him off, "do something nice for me, and I'll come back soon."

"I just _did_ something nice for you," he hinted, at which she only tittered, standing up and going for the bra discarded over by his window. "Half an hour," he negotiated persistently.

"I've got to get back," she dismissed. "They'll notice I'm gone."

"Half an hour," he insisted again, and then softened, relented. "Please," he added. He didn't want to lose her company just yet; didn't want to have to turn over in his bed and not have something there to touch – someone that proved he couldn't be anywhere else.

He never would've thought he'd be the person who didn't want to be alone, but there it was; he'd been alone too much. Not tonight, not after this. The change would be too sudden.

She sighed, falling for the pity-ploy, and sat herself down then found space to lay in the little single bed. He turned onto his side, facing her, eyes open and half-lidded as he scanned over her body first by sight, then extended a limp hand to trace its contours. She let him, the way a babysitter might allow a child to twist her hair before bedtime, and eventually turned to look, eyes sharp and perceptive in his.

She was pitying him, he knew, but he couldn't bring himself to be angry about it – he just let her, because the sympathy was getting him what he wanted_._ She slowly reached out a warm hand and brushed the back of her knuckles along the side of his face, soothingly trailing down his neck and then turning over his shoulder to grip his arm, thumb tracing back and forth; a touch to reassure him of her presence, to let him know she was still there even if he couldn't see her. So he let his eyes flutter shut, breath evening out. A stamp to show he wasn't alone for tonight, and the next thing he knew it was morning.

Lola Lombardi, along with any trace that she'd been there, was gone.


	21. Welcome to the New Age

Few things that were more aggravating in the morning than the voice of Jimmy Hopkins. _Especially _before Gary had smoked the first cigarette of the day.

"Well look what the cat dragged in," he leered as Gary emerged from his room, blurry-eyed and only half-dressed, gripping his sweater in his hand and rubbing sleep from his face. "Good morning, sunshine."

"Shut up, Jimmy," he droned, still clinging to the haze of sleep. He had been happy to wake alone, well-rested from the deepest sleep since he'd returned. Lola had done just what he wanted her to – put him down then disappear. Jimmy was going to ruin his buzz being this obnoxious at such an early hour.

"What are you so cranky about?" Jimmy taunted, clearly revelling in some sort of post-coital triumph of his own – like the achievement of orgasm with someone was a commendable act. While they were squabbling Pete rolled up from his own room. "Didn't last night go well?"

"Mind your own business," he replied grouchily. He had scratches that still stung to move, but letting Jimmy know would be giving into his idiocay.

"It went that badly?" he baited with a sick grin.

"What are you talking about?" Pete interjected, and Gary gave an impatient sigh.

"You tell me," he retorted, and grabbed the back of his collar to hike up his shirt, airing out a back full of the only proof he hadn't dreamed it all, while Jimmy let out a long whistle.

"Holy heck," he hissed. "Are you sure it was a girl?"

"I did wonder about the whiskers," he remarked dryly, and Jimmy snorted. Gary resettled his clothing just as Pete was trying to strain into view.

"What is it?" he pitched. "Why-"

"Maybe when you're older, Petey," Gary chided, but Jimmy gave a dirty chuckle.

"Gary's just finally gotten over himself and thinks it makes him special," Jimmy commented.

"What does that mean?" Pete replied blankly, lost as a sheep at sea.

"Oh yeah," Jimmy murmured. "We didn't tell you about it, did we?"

"Apparently not," Pete said shirtily. Not that he was unaccustomed to missing the boat.

"Don't let Gary fool you, it was nothin' special," he observed. "Just snuck in some girls to _celebrate_ getting back to school, if you know what I mean."

"What?" Pete shot.

"Don't go all head boy on us," Gary teased at his indignant look. "We can't take it back. Not literally at least."

"But then... who," Pete fumbled, staring at Gary like he was trying to find the right words for 'who in their right mind would fuck _you_?'

"Don't be an idiot," he slurred, and Jimmy chortled.

"Really, Pete," he commented. "There's only one girl loose _and _crazy enough to do him."

"Crazy keeps it fun," Gary retorted. "Keep all the boring sluts for yourself, Jimmy. Please."

"Surely not," Pete tacked on. "Not Lo-"

"Shh," Gary cut in. "There are people who can hear you, Pete. I don't like her enough to get the crap beaten out of me twice."

Jimmy was leading the way as they started from the dorm up to the main building for class, and Gary followed, eager to light his morning smoke into the cooling winter air. Why they were bothering to go together wasn't something he had thought about, but seeing as they were there he stuck around.

"Seriously though," Petey announced like the conversation had been unbroken by half of campus. They picked through students, the chaos noticeably calmer than when they were newly back. "I can't believe you... you know... with _her_."

"So?" Gary said, shrugging and pulling on his cigarette.

"She's got a boyfriend," he pointed out, and Gary nodded.

"Exactly," he conferred. "That's the best part."

"But... that doesn't make sense," Pete disagreed.

"Sure it does," he countered. "I wouldn't want to fuck her if she was single, _eugh_." That probably wasn't true, not for her, but it felt good to say it anyway. "Oh no, don't look at Jimmy for solidarity," he added as Pete looked around for help. "He cheats too."

"I don't," Jimmy denied gruffly.

"What about Mandy?" Gary posed, and Jimmy went quiet. Oh yes, he knew _all _about that as well.

"All right, except for Mandy," he conceded. "Speaking of which, you gonna talk to her or what? I'm sick of getting running practice just to get in and out of the gym."

"Soon," he accepted without fuss. "She'll like me better if she doesn't know about Lola anyway, best act before it gets out." Petey looked like he wanted to make a fuss about his feminist principles being offended or something, but gave up when he realised he was preaching to exactly the _wrong_ audience.

They parted for classes, leaving Gary outside with the remnants of his cigarette, resolving how and when and why to speak to Mandy. Today felt like a good day. He'd make the most of it.

Although classes weren't better than they usually were, they certainly weren't _worse_, and he got through them without much issue. The real work was afterwards; Mandy came like a fish onto a hook following a well-worded note in her locker. He didn't take up much of her time, just enough to convince her into one of their customary sessions of secretive backchat. She didn't need much convincing, and he wondered if she'd even missed his confidence.

Within a day they were in Bullworth Town with a list a mile long about everything and everyone who'd got on her tits since Gary left. Chiefly was Ted ignoring her to resume bullying of the other cliques, and some throwaway remarks about Jimmy being out of line for what he'd done to Gary. Of course, _she_ was never going to see issue with anyone hitting Zoe Taylor.

It wasn't especially hard to turn her opinions back over – he suggested that Jimmy wasn't worth the trouble of consideration, that he was in fact a waste of effort in hating, then how Ted was a far better guy than Jimmy was anyway. No need to fuss over the mongrel and neglect the pet she had waiting for her, he explained, and set her out to assuage Ted's fractured male ego.

As always, she took his suggestions like applesauce. Gary assured Jimmy it wouldn't be long before the results played out. Following the meeting, Jock testosterone levelled out considerably and Jimmy found Ted far more receptive to negotiations. Probably because he'd gotten laid.

By the end of the week, with a few arguments and only one very small fight, Jimmy and Ted had cut an arrangement – Ted and his boys would keep in mind who was boss, and back off the bullying around school, and Jimmy would keep his depraved self away from Ted's girlfriend. Which was fine, considering Mandy had been the one to pursue Jimmy and cause all the trouble in the first place.

Gary only watched that one play out from the sidelines, acting from behind the curtain, but it put him right next to his final goal. If he was lucky, he'd be able to achieve the rest in one leap. Pete, however, had other ideas – eager as he ever was with his beady little eyes, watching Gary like a sparrow on a hawk, wondering when he was going to turn next and go for him as the nearest piece of lunch.

"Gary," he inquired as they coalesced in the canteen for lunch one day. "Can I talk to you about something?"

"I'm sure you _can_," he answered obnoxiously, "as to whether you should, Pete, I can't say. Is it going to be stupid?"

"No... well, I don't think so," he moped.

"That depends on what it is, femme-boy," he declared, favouring the most food-like looking of the meal selections, and reminding himself that it was still a step above Happy Volts.

"Okay," he began hesitantly, speaking like his own voice made him uncomfortable. "I don't really think this is a good place for it. Maybe if we go somewhere quieter-"

"I see how it is," he cut in. "You want to get me alone, Petey? Is that it? I hate to break it to you, princess, but I simply can't fuck you unless you have a boyfriend already."

"Gary, be serious," he bit, and he let off an amused chuckle.

"You want me to be serious?" he echoed like a panto-audience. "With _you_? How can I be serious, Petey, when you're such a joke?" Petey huffed and puffed like he was intending to go and blow down some little pigs' houses; or as if he were intending to reach out and give Gary a slap, were he far braver and less wimpy, of course.

"Don't be a jerk, Gary," he nagged, and then it was Gary's call to heave a sigh.

"Oh _all right_," he consented wearily. "But only because you've caught me in a good mood."

"Could've fooled me," Petey mumbled, but Gary only gave a scathing laugh.

"Come on, Patricia," he coaxed sarcastically. "There's got to be an empty bench somewhere round here." They skipped out on lunch and went around school, taking a bench near the side, where Gary lit up to much-disapproving eyes. "So," he proclaimed, pulling on his cigarette and blowing the smoke in Petey's face. "What is it?" Petey eyed him as if he'd forgotten what words were for a minute. "_Well?_" he barked.

"I... just..." he started, fumbling for courage, or guts, or whatever it was he needed to be straight with Gary. "I want to know what you're planning," he ground out at last. "About Jimmy."

"Come on," he goaded. "We made that pretty clear, didn't we?"

"Your plan _for _him, not with him," he insisted. "What are you trying to achieve?"

"Well," Gary sighed, "I said I was going to run this place, didn't I? So that's what I'm going to do." _This_ time he'd actually pull it off. Live and learn, he told himself. He wasn't going to repeat his mistakes.

"But Jimmy-"

"Is part of it," he finished for him.

"_Seriously_," Pete entreated. "What are you going to do to him?" With the look in Petey's eyes, Gary found himself wondering whether he and Jimmy would ever just get over themselves and do whatever it was Jimmy did with those smelly boys in his room, but he kept the remark to himself for once.

"Nothing," he answered purely, "that's the best part. Jimmy stays exactly where and what he is."

"I don't believe you," Pete accused. "You won't share power."

"Don't act like you know me," he snapped. "Jimmy suits his position. Every gormless king needs a crafty Lieutenant," he explained slyly. "Soon I'll be able to do anything I want in this dump."

"No," Pete denied fiercely. "Jimmy will-"

"Jimmy won't do shit," he retorted. "He trusts me, and nothing that you or anyone else say is going to change that."

"He can't," Pete denied, like he couldn't bear to hear it.

"Ask him," Gary challenged. He wanted Pete to, he wanted to eat the expression off his face when Jimmy turned and said he trusted Gary because they were the pair of Jacks who'd gone through the same shredder together. "I dare you, Pete. Just you _ask_ him." They knew the answer both.

"Well... when you betray him again," he grasped for straws while Gary scowled, irritated at Pete's own low expectations of him.

"I'm not going to," he remarked. "That would be stupid."

"Well... wh-," Petey was gasping for breath like a fish in a pond. "Well what _happened_?" he asked at last.

"You have eyes" Gary answered caustically. "We're taking over."

"Before then," he corrected. "Something happened in Happy Volts, didn't it? It _had _to. That's why the two of you are-"

"Why would you jump to a stupid conclusion like that?" he butted in, bullshitting to the full limit of his capability.

"Because you both... it's like... and it's not just Jimmy, either," Petey fumbled for words that made any kind of sense. "He trusts you, but you don't just... it's like you... _respect_ him, or something." Gary pulled a face, flicking ash into Pete's lap.

"Stop, you'll make me sick," he dismissed.

"You do," Petey protested. "You don't even really fight with him, just laugh it off... like... like you're friends or something."

"We're not friends," he hissed, but Petey didn't buy it.

"What went on? Did Jimmy do something?" Gary didn't like these suggestions any more. The oyster didn't want to be opened.

"Fucking hell, Pete!" he snapped at last. "If I wanted to sit around listening to useless chatter, I've got plenty of better options than this. What's your problem with me and Jimmy getting along? Is it _that_ hard to believe, or do you just not want to believe it?"

"No, I-"

"Is it because you feel left out now you're not the special piggy-in-the-middle between us any more?" he slandered. "And what's so awful about me wanting to run this school anyway?" he continued to rage like a burst dame. "We'll do a better job together than either of us did alone." _We, we'll_, those words that crept into his vocabulary by mistake.

"There's no _we_ with you," Pete argued, and Gary had taken enough of this.

"What the hell would you know?!" he snarled, bolting up in his seat and throwing away his still-burning cigarette. "You don't know a goddam thing compared to what you _think _you do, Pete. So just shut up and let me have what I want for once!" With a final cathartic shot of anger, it was gone, and Petey had eyes on him like he'd never thought of it that way before.

"What _do _you want, Gary?" he asked carefully. But for once he had the truth ready on his mouth.

"I want to live without taking shit from people like _you _all the time," he hissed, and there it was, soaked in blood. "You go on and on about right and wrong," he continued with a more subdued air. "So tell me, what is so fundamentally _wrong _with me?"

Petey clearly knew he was being backed into a corner, because he said nothing; not fool enough to try and suggest something Gary _might _do in power as evidence. There were plenty of things he could do that would ruin Bullworth, but that wasn't what the question was about. Pete knew that nice was just as much a setting as nasty, and he could likewise be a good ruler as well as a bad one. Give him what he wanted, he was suggesting, and he might elect to be a benign dictator.

"You know, I'm glad we had this chat," Gary remarked sardonically, patting him on the shoulder to resist the urge to slap him. "Really cleared things up. Oh," he added as he got up, "friendly word of advice, Pete. Don't try to get in my way."

"Or what?" Petey asked timidly, watching Gary leave.

"Moron," he derided. "Or you'll have Jimmy to answer to." It was a flat statement; no direct threat because he didn't need to make it that sharp, the flat of the blade would serve. Petey was going to have to deal with whatever teenage-girl issues he had with himself, because Gary was planning to run this arrangement for a while.

He'd resolved to himself that the best way to rule _would_ be as the brains alongside Jimmy's brawn – as the right and left hand of his operation, where he made all the important decisions and gave all crucial advice, but didn't actually have to deal with the boringthings like people wanting his help. Jimmy knew too, and he accepted it. He seemed to, at least. Still at the back of his mind he held a little reservation, a last stronghold of defence. He would always be the one to turn first.

But Jimmy had been dependent enough on Gary's input through Happy Volts that by now he was used to taking his word. They'd had a whole pack of opportunities to stab each other in the back, and the only thing he had were scratches from the girl Jimmy had helped him sneak in – his cheap gesture of comfort, like they really were friends. Even if they weren't, they were cooperating, which was better.

Gary Smith wasn't stupid, and he wasn't going to ruin something that was working.

In fact there was just one clique left to pull back into line; the preps under the entitled brat Derby Harrington, and now he and Jimmy were about ready to get on the case. They'd sworn to handle it together – both practical and a final seal of cooperation on their pact. So one evening after school they stood side by side at the doors of Harrington House, preparing to storm the fort.

"You sure this is going to work?" Jimmy asked as they squared off at the doors.

"Don't you trust me?" he baited. "It'll work."

"I hope you're right," he remarked, and then with a true home-run arm he slammed a hand into the front door, which went flying open. The lobby was shocked.

"What are you two doing in here?!" Chad stormed first and foremost out of the rabble.

"We're here to see Derby," Gary announced, selecting a cricket bat from the wall and hanging it over his shoulder.

"You are not _welcome_ here," Chad retorted, and then realised he was getting a none-too-sympathetic look from Jimmy, who had a bat of his own, which he was now swinging back and forth, as if to test the weight and velocity.

"Just tell him we're here," Gary insisted. "Or would you like your screams to serve as an alarm?" That hit home. Although they were deep into prep turf, it was late and half their ranks were probably in their Vale homes luxuriating in four-poster beds already. Not to mention all of them would have very vivid memories of being on the receiving end of what Jimmy could do with a bat or similarly-proportioned weapon.

Sure enough, Chad rushed off with a scowl, and whether it was to pass on the message or simply to pick up reinforcement, the result was that Derby soon came storming down a flight of stairs, Bif treading after him like he was playing grandma's footsteps.

"What is the meaning of this?!" Derby blazed. "You barge in here, make threats, acting as if you're-"

"Just getting your attention, Derby," Gary explained politely. "Would you have got here so quickly if we hadn't?"

"This is-" Derby started, but a sideways flick of the eyes from Gary and Jimmy stepped forward to take the stage.

"No, let me tell _you_ something, Derby," he barged in, jabbing the end of his bat menacingly at Derby."Playtime's over. You get me?"

"I certainly do not," he replied haughtily.

"What he's saying, friend," Gary chimed in, not moving from the spot, but riveting his eyes on Derby's with piercing intensity, "is that you still get your little fiefdom, but it's time to remember who's on top."

"And that's _you_ is it, Smith?" Derby accused sarcastically, but Gary's only response was a toothy smile, like a lion baring canines at the other cats. "Befitting, I suppose," the prep added, his eyes flitting back to Jimmy. "Two lunatics leading a ship of fools."

"You want to try it, Harrington?" Gary inquired frostily.

"Go on, Derby," Jimmy bit, glaring up at him. "Do it. Make my freaking day." There was Derby's problem, right in the tensing around his eyes, the slightly-intimidated squint that remembered Jimmy Hopkins had kicked his ass four ways to Sunday, and that Gary Smith had made him do it.

"It's simple," Gary cut in, before they reached the point of obstinacy where a fight was the only way of resolving things. "It's your last year here, Harrington. You don't want to spend it struggling to keep control over your clique, do you? Because believe me, that's what'll happen. As _well_ as the beatings," he added, and Jimmy waggled his eyebrows suggestively.

"Ah... you know what? I'm sure... we can... resolve matters," he murmured uncomfortably, a touch of the begrudging in his tone.

"Yeah, we can," Jimmy explained. "You say _yes boss_, and make sure your boys don't go around getting into trouble they got no right to be in. Then we'll have no problems at all."

"Ugh," Derby groaned. "Do I have to?"

"Unless you'd prefer _'yes Jimmy and Gary sir'_," Gary interjected in a derogatory imitation. Derby rolled his eyes, and glanced at the few allies he had with him.

"As if you weren't bad enough separately," Derby groaned. That seemed to be a popular observation these days. "Very well," he sighed like Bif had put his arms around his chest and squeezed every last puff of air out of him.

"Very well _what_?" Jimmy queried brashly.

"Feuds are off. There'll be no trouble unless someone else comes asking for it," Derby consented. "I was getting bored of it anyway."

"_And_?" Jimmy persisted.

"And... you're the boss," he relented, grinding through his back teeth, then darted his eyes at Gary. "Plural."

"Then we understand each other," Jimmy pronounced, stepping back away from Derby. "Evening, girls," he said by way of leaving, and they headed back for the stairs, holding onto the bats just in case. On the outside Gary was glowing with victory.

"See, Jimmy?" he gloated as they trotted up to the fountain. "Not one punch thrown."

"You say that like it's a good thing," Jimmy replied sourly. "I still reckon a beating would've done'em better."

"Patience and dispensation, Jimmy," he lectured. "Save the beating for the first time they cross the line. Make them hurt, and they'll behave again for good. They might be pedigree, but they can be trained like any other dog."

"You're saying I wait for them to have an _accident_ and then rub their faces in it?" he surmised.

"Good, Jim," he slurred patronisingly. "I see the metaphor stuck. That demonstrates commendable memory skills."

"Get over yourself," Jimmy retorted, not taking well to the condescension. "Still a prick after everything I've done for you."

"Likewise," he accused.

"Yeah, well I think I'm just about used to it now," Jimmy declared nonchalantly, dropping his bat by the dorm steps and tromping up inside.

"You know, Petey's not happy," Gary added out of nowhere, and Jimmy turned and glanced at him, eyes off the dorm for a moment.

"He ain't? Why not?" Apparently his observational skills didn't reach that far.

"He doesn't like _this_," Gary replied, and Jimmy understood what he meant without need for further detail. "He thinks I've got something nasty planned for you."

"Have you?" Jimmy suggested.

"No," he answered, and slightly to his own surprise it was the truth. For now, at least.

"Good. I believe you," Jimmy accepted, and again Gary felt the sting of being trusted so freely. It was power, but it was also frightening. Except he told himself he didn't have to break it before it could take root, he could cultivate it. Take the sapling from strength to strength, then cash it all in on something _really_ worthwhile.

"Jimmy," he started as they were about to part in the hallway. The air was unwelcoming and cold even inside – snow would be on the way soon.

"Yeah, man?" he replied unquestioningly.

"I like the way this worked out," he admitted, the sounds strange from his lips. Seal the deal, he told himself, it only felt risky because it was worth something.

"Uhuh, me too," he grunted, and that was enough.


	22. Cold ends and new beginnings

Compared to a cell at Happy Volts, Gary found being in his room at Bullworth relaxing in a whole new way. If he got bored or irritated he could lay on his bed and count all the walls and surfaces that _weren't _that miserable asylum and by the end of the count he'd at least have some perspective.

This room was a safe place, the one retreat he had; even Jimmy understood that now – that when the door was fixed shut, it meant he didn't want to see _anyone_. Petey had already known that, but at least now he stuck to it and stopped knocking for too long like a woodpecker. Not disturbing Gary until he was damn-well ready to be disturbed.

This day was his anniversary, of sorts. He'd been clean again for over a month, with prescriptions accumulating like dry rot in the drawers of his furniture. There was a difference this time, though; the change had been achieved without his grades tanking, without getting into serious trouble, without latching onto a kamikaze scheme to dominate and burn Rome in a day. No meds and no problems. Which meant he had only one thing left to do, which was convince the school and everyone else they could leave him alone.

"You're scared," he told himself in sure, certain words. He was out flat on his bed, conducting an interview with himself; like the mattress was a pane of glass with his reflection on the other side, back-to-back and mind to mind.

"What do you have to be scared of?" his voice from the looking glass world replied, but there was no confrontation, no differences in thought or opinion. This one was a perfect match, a flawless equal.

"They won't believe me," he confessed, voicing his fears in the safety of his head, locked into his room; boxes within boxes. "It'll let them now I've stopped taking them, then it's back to the start."

"It's a risk," he admonished, and then, "Is it worth it?"

"For no more meds?" he put forward. "Yes – _if _they agree."

"No more pills ever again," he continued on from himself. "At home as well. If things stay sweet, no more hospitals either, maybe even no more therapists."

It was like being promised leprechaun gold – no more institutions, no being rolled out like dough to fit into the cookier-cutter outlines. He could be free to be himself without manipulation or disapproval, without someone trying to correct him like a badly-trained puppy. However, it wasn't free – the price was high.

"But I know what it means," he reminded himself warily. "No more revolution. No upheaval," he answered. "Good behaviour, relatively speaking."

That was hard to swallow, but it was a straightforward problem; what freedom did he choose? To be unmedicated and live by the rules, or challenge whatever he wanted and battle the medicinal reaper for the rest of his pre-adult life.

"But, then again," he added as an addendum. "I'm already in power. There's no need to overturn my own system," he reasoned with himself, looking for the holes in the argument. "_With_ Jimmy though." He couldn't deny there was still a part of him that vehemently resented Jimmy being anything but the lowest of the low, but at the same time, there was something else – he didn't need to say it, but did all the same.

"Although... he _is_ different now," he confessed. He still wouldn't call Jimmy _friend_, but he couldn't deny the more important things. Trust and understanding mattered more than actually liking him. And it wasn't justthat he trusted Jimmy not to betray him, but he knew that sometimes his battles and Jimmy's battles were the same – and he'd get involved whether Gary wanted him to or not. He jumped in on whatever side he thought right, and contrary to popular belief, that was occasionally with him.

"Now would be the best time to betray him," he pointed out to himself, but there was no lust in his voice for it, following up with the counter-argument. "But betraying him would be stupid," he reasoned with himself. He did have Jimmy _right _where he wanted him – Jimmy was still the King in name, but it was well-known who he had for help. Petey

was his right hand – the head boy, dutiful and honest – who worked with the system to help him run things smoothly, and Gary was the left. He held the dagger behind the back, played hands underneath the table, and everyone knew that no good would ever come of pissing off Gary Smith. Sure, they weren't inseparable, but they didn't have to be. Things were running just fine.

"Except... what else is there?" he suggested, confronting the gaping black hole in his life, the vacuum he'd thrown a cover over and was pretending didn't exist. Depression had got him because he realised he'd put all of his existence into beating Jimmy and taking over the school, and then he'd had to let it go – without it, he had nothing, and he didn't know what to _do _with himself without a goal. He'd always had plans, but now he had achieved what he wanted, more or less, and he didn't have any scores to even.

There was nothing in his life to work for, and that was actually intimidating. If there was nothing to do, what reason did he have to get up every day? Thatwhat he was most afraid of – that _something_ surely had to be better than nothing, even if it was going to come at his own destruction.

"You don't need an end-game," he reminded himself, assuring the panic before it sunk claws into him. "It's fine to just... take it as it comes."

"Until what?" he posed back at himself.

"There's always next year," he suggested fresh. "Changes on the horizon." Half of the clique leaders had been meant to graduate last year but not made the classes and repeated due to that little 'incident' Gary might have provoked. Others were still in junior year, but the way things were going the entire generation of leaders and a good few of their right-hand men were going to leave Bullworth come summer, and that left a lot of power vacuums to fill.

While Gary wasn't so crude as to imagine he – or even he and Jimmy – could take each individual place, he could certainly make sure things played out to suit his best interests. It would be more fun, or so he reasoned, to manipulate events to ensure that the next series of leaders were all docile and easy to control than to perform a straightforward takeover.

"Operating within the limits just makes it more challenging," he told himself, and it was an excuse for rule-abiding, but it was a pretty persuasive one. "I can handle that." He stared up at his ceiling, the off-white of medications, and took a deep breath. "I can handle everything." Binding the words to his chest like a gauze, he swore to himself he would do it soon. He _had_ to take the risk; he had to move forward.

Winter break was looming, and that put pressure on confronting the authorities about exactly what he was or wasn't taking any more, not to mention a winter break at home without 'permission' would be the very opposite of pleasant. If it was just a matter of not taking the pills and letting Bullworth be none the wiser, things would've been a lot easier; if he wanted his familyand the private doctors who funded a significant part of their income on his neuroses to bend, he needed the school to sign him off.

So he waited until they doled out another set of prescriptions to him – in _their _books they were working, the perfect balance had been met – and then took them straight to Crabblesnitch's office.

The Headmaster sure as hell wasn't happy to see him, but neither did he slam the door on his face the moment Gary strolled into the room. Perhaps he'd been waiting for this moment too.

"What is it now, Smith?" he said caustically. "I don't have time for this."

"I don't need these any more," he announced coldly, dumping the bag of pills on the corner of his desk. "Just letting you know."

"What?" he scathed, eyes on the package with instant recognition. "Don't tell me you're starting _this_ battle over-"

"It's already started," he cut in. "It's ongoing. I've been off medication for over a month, _sir_."

"What?" he sounded a little surprised, which was a good thing. "Under whose authority?"

"Under _mine_," Gary answered. "I don't want them. I never wanted them. And I've proven as well as I can that I don't need medication."

"How do you figure for that?" Crabblesnitch inquired sardonically.

"The school has been 'smooth', has it not?" he stated. "I was put on medication for misbehaviour, but now I'm all reformed. Congratulations, your treatments worked," he parodied without becoming too acrid and ruining the moment. "Now, making me go back _on _the pills is what'd cause a bad break," he hinted, and then leaned over the desk, hands folded over the edge. "I promise you, if you try to make me take them again, I _will_ tear this place up and Jimmy Hopkins will _help_ me do it."

It was a clear threat, but sometimes that was the only thing that would do the job. Jimmy's fight with the bottle hadn't even lasted a fortnight – he had no history of medication, and no one had the obstinacy to try and browbeat him over it. Crabblesnitch surely knew that Jimmy would back him up on this, but for a long and unbearable moment he just looked at Gary.

Then he sighed, a big puff blowing him up like a whoopee cushion, and he clicked his fingers forward.

"You know, Smith, I could lie to you, and say I am surprised," he remarked lethargically, "but suffice to say I am not. And do you know why?" Gary just stared him out. "It is because you are a smart little boy, and smart boys _don't_ like taking their medicine," he elaborated. "You see it as _weakness_ to have to correct your poor defective brains." If Gary had not a vested interest in Crabblesnitch remaining in good temper with him, he would've thrown his tea tray all over his patronising face.

"However," he added on, and Gary managed to still twitching fingers. "I am prepared to take your argument into account. If you are really so set on me agreeing to the termination of your treatment, you have already considered and accepted the costs."

"Yes," he answered begrudgingly.

"Because if it _really _means that much to you, you will behave," Crabblesnitch phrased for him. "You will not only behave, you will _adhere_, outperform. Give that school spirit a rousing boost."

"Okay," he bit, clenching the words because it was worth holding them back. It _was_ worth it.

"And if you have been absentee in taking your prescriptions for as long as you say you have, I will detect no change in your temperament following any decision to cease medication."

"Yes," he said like his mouth was full of chalk.

"Yes _what_?" Crabblesnitch demanded, and Gary felt a reflection across from him, hands wrenched just as tight, telling him that he didn't have to mean it, and that it was worth it all to get the permission to live as himself again.

"Yes, _sir_," he corrected humbly, feeling the need for a cigarette from his fingertips to the back of his throat.

"Good," Crabblesnitch complimented, resting himself back in his chair. "Well then, if it means so very much to you, boy, I will inform the nurse and physicians that you are no longer going to be part of their corrective treatment programmes."

"And my parents?" he asked boldly, refusing to leave the puzzle incomplete. Crabblesnitch sighed.

"I will pass on to them that as your term-time guardian we have decided to pursue other methods of behaviour management for your... _conditions,_" he remarked boredly. "You never _did_ take very well to the medication anyway."

"It was unnecessary," Gary decreed snarkily, and Crabblesnitch eyed him.

"Quite the opposite," he corrected. "Though it may have only worked in the short term, if you were not so wholly desperate to get _off_ prescriptions, I doubt you would be so willing to play along now. Am I wrong?" Gary said nothing, because he couldn't ever bring up the words to admit Crabblesnitch had made a valid point. It wasn't important, he reasoned, he just needed the sign-off.

"So..." he forced, wanting the proof in layman's terms. "No more pills?"

"Yes. As long as you behave," Crabblesnitch granted. "But mark my words, boy, one foot out of line and I will strongly reconsider this extremely understanding decision I have made for you."

"I understand... _sir_," he grated out, the last few words of submission before he had what he wanted. "Is that all?"

"Yes, that will be all I suppose," Crabblesnitch replied, and glanced at the sets of pills. He reached for a piece of memo-paper, and scribbled a short but important note on it, which he shoved across the desk. "You may take those back to Nurse McRae. Dismissed."

Gary snatched up the paper and pills and barely stopped himself sprinting across the room. Once into the hall he stuffed the note into his pocket, clutched the pills tight in his hand, and bolted down the stairs. He ran out of the building, straight up the path towards the gates, feeling an actual _smile_ push at his cheeks like he'd never done it before, and didn't stop until he was at the bridge to Bullworth Town.

He stumbled to a halt half-way across, ripping open the paper bag andletting the contents fall to the floor with a messy, chaotic clatter. One by one, he picked up each prescription and hurled it off the bridge and into the water. One at a time, throwing them as hard as he could until they disappeared under the murky surface. Each and every one rejected, the weights lifted from his shoulders. All gone, everything tossed away _for good_. Never again, he told himself, and oh did it feel fantastic.

Winter was rolling in, freezing the air and bringing out hats and coats, students settling in among drifts of snow. The Christmas break wasn't long at Bullworth – parents didn't send their children here because they wanted to _see _them – but it still meant a fortnight at home over winter break. Even Jimmy was being shipped off to whatever love-shack his mother had set up in for the festive period. Petey was already gone, dashing off the moment his classes finished; unlike most Bullworth kids, his parents actually lived a long way out of town. On a commune probably, some backward settlement as of yet untouched by most of modern civilisation.

The boys dorm was absolute chaos, with bags, suitcases and everyone's most personal possessions hurled all over the place. It seemed like half of the school had been in and out of Jimmy's room collecting lost or left items.

After Trent got into a very loud fight with his roommate Ethan about who owned a particular pair of boxers that neither of them would lay claim to – they were Kirby's, Trent insisted, which then brought the pint-sized jock into the disagreement with a furious tone that only got more high-pitched – Gary decided to escape the battlefield and retreat outside. Dumping his bag on the forecourt, he sat down on it and lit a cigarette, knees up by his arms as he waited on his pickup.

There was never any question that he'd go home, though neither he nor his parents particularly desired it, they still _did _it. Within a half-hour he saw his father's dark winter coat turn the corner, housing the cold-hearted bastard himself. Gary was finishing a second cigarette, and tossed it down as he reached for his bag, standing up and walking out to meet him past the dorm gates.

"Son," he greeted, as cold as the air around them.

"Hi, dad," he replied just as flatly, and they barely broke pace as his father turned around and they headed for the parking lot, where his mother was waiting in the passenger seat of the car. It wasn't the worst wreck that had been hauled in for pickup, but nowhere near the scale of the prepmobiles that rolled up with expensive winter tyres and heated windscreens.

He put his bag into the back seat and climbed in after it, while his father settled into the driver's chair and started the engine. It wasn't a particularly long drive, but took them to the outskirts of Bullworth, where the neighbourhood always looked better than it was.

Nothing was said until they were already over the bridge into Bullworth Town, a smile touching Gary's face as they passed by the spot he'd thrown away the last of his medication. As was usually the way, his mother broke the silence – ever ready to compromise for the stubbornness between himself and his father.

"So... you had an eventful term," she remarked cautiously. Gary didn't expect Crabblesnitch to have given them the _entire_ story, but he certainly would've recounted events loosely enough. Gary had seen their car appear in the parking lot a few days ago, and if it was a secret, it meant a meeting with the Headmaster. He was far from unhappy about it – it meant Crabblesnitch would have told them about his medication too, which saved at least part of the fight that was bound to occur.

"I guess," he answered, his voice as blank as a washed-down blackboard.

"A month in a..." his father started, eyes on the road and hands gripping the wheel; he stopped before the key word, unable to find the right one – mental asylum? Hospital? Corrective facility? Nothing really fit, it either said too much, or wasn't specific enough to make the jab he wanted. "Place like Happy Volts," he settled for disparagingly. "It qualifies as somewhat eventful in my books."

"Who asked about _your_ books?" Gary murmured under his breath, and if keeping his eyes on the road had not been high up in his father's list of priorities, he definitely would've turned around to fire him a scolding glare.

"I can smell cigarette smoke," his mother chipped in suddenly, placing the scent like a long-forgotten friend. Distraction tactics. Gary said nothing, but smirked as his mother's eyes met his own, daring her to ask him. He wouldn't lie about it, that would remove half the fun. Predictably, she didn't say any more – if they didn't ask, they didn't have to get involved. See no evil, hear no evil, or whatever it was they told themselves at night.

"I stopped taking my meds," he threw out after a long enough pause, triumphant in his declaration.

"The head said you have been _allowed_ to stop taking medication," his father corrected for him.

"Sure," he answered. "You can say it like that as well. If it helps."

"I'm not sure how I feel about it," his father replied disapprovingly. "I think I'll arrange an appointment with your therapist to assess the decision and see if it's wise." Gary grit his teeth, preparing himself for the battle; it was never all-out fights any more, no blitzkrieg with them. Trench warfare. Get a little way, entrench and defend it, fall back and re-dig. Start over.

"I'm glad," his mother remarked benignly. "I never liked the idea anyway. Just because you're..." Difficult, cruel, callous, dysfunctional, just a plain bastard – there were plenty of words to go with. "_You_," she finaled.

"You never had a problem shoving me on pills before," he commented without disguising his bitterness.

"Well, at the time it seemed..." his mother grappled for words. "Dr. Crabblesnitch says your behaviour has been much better recently."

"Hn," he scoffed. "What would _he_ know about it. He barely notices-"

"He's been damn-well understanding of _you_," his father interrupted. "I think you should give him more credit." Gary said nothing, freezing them out instead; engaging was risky, especially when his father was threatening therapists.

"He says that you made up with the boy you fought with last year," his mother contributed before their discourse got too bitter. "What was his name? James-"

"I didn't _make up_ with him," Gary hissed, and saw the twist of his father's head – glancing at him for just a moment, then turning back.

"He saidthat the boy beat you seven ways to Sunday," his father pointed out, a slight jab towards his wife as well as son for putting the rose-coloured gloss on too hard. "Which doesn't sound like much of a truce to me." Gary huffed but said nothing. They couldn't make him explain himself, or anything that happened with Jimmy.

"Well, has anything else happened?" his mother badgered, and Gary found himself grinning with the list. He'd gotten the school he wanted, put the head boy and cardinal thug in his pocket, not to mention giving the clique leaders a very good reason to be suspicious of leaving their girlfriends around him. There were less exciting things, like almost losing himself to depression and breaking in and out of Happy Volts like a yo-yo, but it all made up a colourful patchwork of everything that'd gone down since the end of that fateful summer.

"No," he answered instead, preferring to keep the truths cradled in his hands, dim, fluttering lights seen only to him instead of being shared around like unwanted candy. Outside the window, the frosted winter landscape coasted past like a scenery-roll being turned in a movie studio. "Not really."

His time at home was uneventful, relatively speaking. There were some tense, almost-arguments had around the dinner table, and he had to sit through an unbearable therapist appointment because his father still could not be beaten – not just yet. However, he thankfully came back with a clear prognosis; the word was that the very _worst _thing anyone could do was put him back on the same unsuccessful medications when he was already managing his 'condition' alone. That meant it was his father's turn to swallow a bitter pill. About time as well.

He had an uneventful birthday, then chatted up a girl from the neighbourhood he used to go to primary with, and deliberately got caught just to shock his father – he didn't like her, but it was worth it for the look on his dad's face for that one moment he walked in and realised what was going on. He also got caught smoking out of his bedroom window by his mother, but she didn't tell and kept the secret for him – give or take a nagging lecture or ploy about his 'health', which he dully ignored.

It was, all in all, mind-numbingly boring, but that was the best they could ever hope for – boring meant no fights, no yelling or crying; not him, of course. Or not any more. His mother was the only one who still cried, as she always had – she'd showed him that it was a way to end fights, a way to bleed sympathy from someone as hard as his father.

It meant Gary never throwing an expensive salt-shaker right across the dining room straight over his father's shoulder, and no locked doors or screaming matches about what was whose fault in the family. Things could be – and _had _been – a lot worse, and they all knew it. That was why the veneer was put on, the don't-ask don't-tell policy of parenting. Instead of days with angry, furious silences where he _refused_ to speak to them because they were responsible for everything he went through and never apologised, they went through two weeks of conversation without ever saying anything that mattered.

Christmas itself was the usual façade, with his stuck-up grandfather rolling in from the Vale with all his attitudes and pretension. The top subjects of conversation were, as ever, the family's fall from grace, his father being a 'convict' – twelve months in prison for a lifetime of disapproval – and how his dad's shoddy lifestyle management was responsible for everything from his conviction by the IRS to Gary's 'behavioural' problems at Bullworth. So Gary said that he'd be dead soon enough, just to spice the evening up, and in spite of the old man's indignation, his dad barely even scolded him for it. He was probably hoping for the old crow's death every night too.

A few days after Christmas they went to visit his mom's family, just him and her, dad left behind. As they delved into New Coventry he couldn't help scanning the streets for Lola.

"Are you looking for someone?" his mother guessed astutely, having sharp eyes even if she rarely acted on what she saw. He'd inherited them, from sight down to colour.

"A girl," he answered shortly, thumbing a cigarette and smoking out of the window – with only his mom there he smoked in plain sight, just for the knife-twist in her disappointment, and to prove that he wasn't _anyone's_ to make decisions for.

"Oh," she replied with a knowing, almost patronising murmur. "I see."

"You probably don't," he retorted. What he and Lola actually were, whatever it was, probably defied all of his mother's expectations about what her newly-reformed son got up to with girls. He didn't even know what he'd have done if he saw her, although his parents _were _going to be out of the house for most of the day and he could think of several entertaining ways to wile it away. Either way, she never surfaced and he was left with imaginations.

The days dropped off like dead leaves, and his return to school grew ever-closer; he found himself looking forward to it. Although he had classes and idiots to deal with, that was at least more entertaining that being stuck at home bored out of his skull.

He didn't expect anyone else'svacation to be vastly more interesting, but evidently some had more eventful breaks than others. When term rolled back around and he was dropped at Bullworth with a few new things and some half-hearted goodbyes, aside from Jimmy's hilarious new winter jumper, the _main _thing that caught his eye was Derby Harrington's hand all the way around Pinky's waist and half-way up her skirt whenever they were in public. Like someone had actually screwed them together at the hip, rather than take the phrase as a metaphorical term.

"So," he started with Petey and Jimmy in the common room on day one, the latter trying to mash the TV remote buttons hard enough to change channel, not realising Gary had taken the batteries out that morning before everyone got up. "Are the inbreds back together now?"

"What?" Petey fielded unwillingly. "You mean Derby and Pinky? How should I know?"

"Jimmy?" he barrelled onwards. "You know anything about the happy couple?"

"Who?" Jimmy murmured blankly, not really paying attention to either of them.

"Derby and Pinky," he reiterated impatiently. "Are they a 'thing' again?" He added the air-quote gestures with his fingers to convey the right amount of ridicule.

"Gary," Jimmy huffed. "Why the hell would I know or care?"

"Fine," Gary sniffed back at him, the same stroppy indifference as Jimmy was treating him with. "I'll just have to ask someone like _Christy_." His tone indicated both his displeasure with having to confront her, and who he held responsible.

"Doesn't she hate you?" Petey pointed out reasonably.

"Usually," he replied. "That's never been much of an obstacle." Petey of all people ought to know. He had first-had account of how anyone's personal feelings towards Gary could somehow be negated if he so wished them to. It was all a matter of approach, really, but Gary didn't want to let the suckers know _that_.

"Why'd you care anyway?" Jimmy probed, finally abandoning the TV set and recognising that talking to them was about the only interesting thing going. Gary gave him a long, suggestion-laden look. "Oh, you're kidding," he declared, recognising the look all too well.

"What?" Petey cut in, and then finally registered the malicious look of delight Gary was wearing. "Wait..."

"Like she'd cheat on Derby for _you_," Jimmy accused.

"Did it for you, didn't she?" he retorted, and Jimmy rolled his eyes.

"They were broken up... he just didn't know it yet," he explained away. "Twenty bucks says you can't even get close," he declared. "Pinky's got more taste than to screw around with scum like you."

"Fine, Jimmy, I'll take your money from you," he replied assuredly, not even registering the slight. "I hate to beat you and prove you wrong, but... oh wait," he cut in anew, effervescing sarcasm. "I love doing that."

"Yeah yeah," Jimmy goaded. "Put your money where your mouth is."

"Or my mouth where the money is," he quipped, holding out a hand to shake on it. "Twenty says I can't pull Gauthier. Deal?" Jimmy's hammy palm clapped into his with the force of a firecracker, stinging very slightly as the cut the pact.

"Deal."

And just like that, he had a new goal.


End file.
